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THE 



SPIRIT OF THE VATICAN 



ILLUSTRATED BY 



HISTORICAL & DRAMATIC SKETCHES 



DURING THE REIGN OF HENRY THE SECOND. 



AN APPENDIX OF PAPAL BULLS, DOCTRINES, EPISCOPAL LETTERS, &c» 



BY JOSEPH TURNLEY. 



LONDON: 

HUGH CUNNINGHAM, 193 STRAND. 
1845. 



LONDON : FEINTED BY THOMAS NATION, 
KING STREET, COYENT GARDEN. 



PREFACE. 



In a day when honourable men, holding the reins of 
government, are not afraid to expose public safety, as 
well as the holy faith of the land, upon the wild 
cataract of expediency ; and whilst some of the chief 
Dignitaries of the Reformed Church are seen chambering 
with the Mother of Harlots and abominations of the earth, 
we need not apologize whilst we humbly endeavour to 
increase the attention of Englishmen to the history oi 
England, — and especially to that period when the Vatican 
struggled to obtain an entire dominion over the civil power. 

These pages are written with that object, and to furnish 
additional evidence that intrigue and physical force have 
ever been, and are still,* some of the means used for the 
advancement of Romanism ; and that the love of power 
is the essential passion of the Roman Hierarchy. At the 
same time, we have aimed to point out the tendency of 
the doctrines of Romanism to lower the standard of morals 
in kings and people. 

Although the period occupied is but one reign — viz. 
that of Henry II., the first of the Plantagenets — yet that 
reign was long, and contained within it peculiar facts 
demonstrating the innate jealousy and hostility of the 
Vatican towards the monarchs of Europe, as well as 
exposing some of the insinuating vices and secret 
powers of Romanism in private society. 

* See important Extract from The Times, in Appendix, p. 221. 



iv 



PREFACE. 



This historical glance may fail to furnish complete proof 
of all the charges against Romanism ; yet it may engender 
inquiry and awaken caution in relation to some questions, 
the decision of which may extricate the Reformed Church 
from the crafty toils cast about her by the Vatican, and 
prevent that false alliance which the morbid liberality of 
some modern Constitutionalists would consummate. There 
is a zeal in the Roman Church, and an attribute of silent 
and stealthy progression, which its history * reveals ; and 
whilst these are elements that may sustain one earthly 
church against another earthly church, and are quite 
enough to break down the earthly barriers raised by 
temporizing expedient-mongers ; yet, if the Reformed 
Church will keep its first love, it will hear the echo 
of Miriam's tuneful voice, and the sound of the loud 
timbrel ; whilst the horse and the rider of Modern Pagan- 
ism must sink as lead in the mighty waters. 



* See Appendix, XXIV. 



Temple, August 1845. 



THE 



SPIRIT OF THE VATICAN. 



Solus Romanus Pontifex jure dicitur universalis. Illi soli licet pro temporis necessitate 
novas leges condere. Papse solius pedes omnes principes deosculantur. Illius solius 
nomen in ecclesiis recitatur: unicum est nomen in mundo. Illi licet imperatores de- 
ponere. Gbeg. Epist. 



The Church has at all times commanded the attention 
of the reflecting philosopher and active politician. It is 
very ohvious that she took the lead in most things which 
advanced the comfort and taste of society: whilst some 
systems were but imperfect imitative theories, wanting 
order and state, the genius of the Hierarchy was exact 
and well delineated. This is not surprising ; for she was 
announced as the bride of Divinity, having the robes and 
elements of Divinity girt about her. She was of God ; 
and although the sinews of earth had soon incased around 
her, defacing in parts the perfect comeliness of her bea- 
tific nature, yet she still retained within her essences 
which defied time, and required not an epoch of ages to 
perfect: and though her foot was on the earth, yet she 
quivered not, whilst she marshalled all her properties with 
an energetic movement and order wholly irresistible by 
all things of the earth ; for from them she had ever se- 
cured awe, and, for a time, obedience. She once wore 



2 



THE SPIRIT OF 



a grace and auspiciousness, contradistinguished to all the 
conventions reared by the Magi of this world. Her 
divine lineage and her sublime vocation commanded for 
her an imperial position and state. Her vocation ren- 
dered her a leader and dictator ; for her end was vast and 
immeasurable — viz. to arouse the million of spirits of men 
to a sense of their own dignity and power. 

Mighty were the functions entrusted to her chiefs for 
placing before man, as in a glass, his own nature, with its 
degree of individual power and honour attainable in this 
world ; and in the alternate scale to lay open before him 
the jewels of the treasury of heaven, with the crown to be 
given by the Lord of all, to them who deposed the earthen 
god, and bowed before the One God. Yes ! it was with 
a spirit's power, and by the voice of an archangel, they 
were charged to open the archives of Heaven, and unfold 
the Book of Life, that man might read his easy duty, his 
unknown path on earth, and the certainty of death and 
judgment. 

We shall have occasion to notice some of the many in- 
stances of unfaithfulness and impurity which disgraced 
those who administered in holy places during the middle 
ages. 

The influence of the Church in England was much 
increased by the introduction of the Papal Power, until 
which time the Archbishop of Canterbury was considered 
the head and ruler of spiritual matters, and the King the 
head and ruler in temporal matters. The folly and fear 
of one William of Corboil betrayed the liberty of the 
English Church. This imprudent Archbishop procured a 
bull from the Pope, appointing him pope's legate in 
ordinary, which at once acknowledged that the power 
and authority which were vested in him were derived 



THE VATICAN. 



3 



from the Pope of Rome. The Pope soon made an occa- 
sion for sending his own legate, (an Italian priest), to 
England, whose presence superseded all bishops and arch- 
bishops during his stay in England. The effects of the 
introduction of the Papal Power into England became very 
alarming, even so early as the 12th century; the great 
and the humble felt environed by elements which were 
new and indefinable. In the reign of Henry II., Popery 
had scarcely ascertained the nature of its powers or the 
most effective mode of using them. Its acute eye per- 
ceived that there revolved in the spirit of the English 
monarch many sublime principles, which were not easily 
bent to subjection. It had not determined whether the 
king of England was better suited for an ally or a victim 
of the hierarchy. In its vacillations and hesitations, it 
may be compared to a young vulture, who could just 
espy her prey flickering below the craggy height, where 
misfortune or circumstance had cast it; but who dared 
not pounce upon it with that eagerness her carnivorous 
nature dictated, lest her half-fledged wing should fail, or 
her intended victim o'ermatch her strength. In the 12th 
century, the Papal Power was a new element, and by no 
means comprehended. The sovereigns of Europe, and 
England in particular, suddenly saw a monstrous thing 
stalking forth upon the earth, with the mien and comeli- 
ness of an angel, but with the action of a fiend. Its 
ends and purposes were impervious to the common ken ; 
but its nature was power, irresistible, and unprecedented. 
For a time, kings and princes and warlike men fell back ; 
and like frighted steeds, with distended nostrils and ears 
erect, snorting and champing, yet gazing intently on 
some strange object, they paused to gaze at what they 
could not understand. For a while, their eyes were 

b 2 



4 



THE SPIKIT OF 



riveted upon it ; yet they soon returned to their respective 
vocations; for they felt incompetent to contend with a 
being which, they thought, belonged to the divinities of 
heaven or hell. In other words, a new principle had come 
to herd with the attributes of earthly power. Its nature 
was too sublime and active to submit to a common vassal- 
age; indeed the monarchs of the earth already displayed 
both jealousy and deference ; for they believed it had 
within its grasp some vast treasury and mystic panoply, 
which was as unfathomable as august, and sufficient to 
render it either a valuable ally or a dangerous enemy. 

There were some natural channels in which the Church 
continued to distinguish itself from all other conven- 
tions. 

The light which emanates from knowledge glowed upon 
her brow, and associating with her divine pretensions, 
secured for her real grandeur and power. She was con- 
servator of the arts and sciences — of all knowledge — and 
all those elegant attainments which should regulate and 
refine society. This was one part of her earthly founda- 
tion. The priesthood pretended to be learned in legal, 
and even medical and surgical lore ; and were resorted to 
in most cases of sickness or accident. However, M. Paris 
says, that the persecuted people, the Jews, in the 12th 
century maintained at London, York, and Lincoln very 
extensive schools for learning, into which Christians were 
freely admitted. In many instances the Jewish physician 
was preferred to the Christian priest. The vast profit 
tempted many monks to neglect their conventual duty, 
so that they might attain a smattering of medical science ; 
insomuch that it was found necessary at the Council of 
Tours, in 1163, to form a canon to restrain this practice 
by the monks. Giraldus Cambrensis states, that the 



THE VATICAN. 



5 



Latin and Oriental languages were much cultivated by the 
monks. The works of Walter Mapes, Hanoi, and others 
of this date, are in excellent Latin. 

The priests of all ages have been the earliest students 
of medicine ; for in Exodus xiii, 2, we learn that the 
leper was brought to the priest for examination, that he 
might determine whether the leprosy was of the virulent 
and contagious character. (See Appendix, No. I.) 

The priesthood were the chief chroniclers during the 
middle ages, and furnish the accounts of the ecclesiastical 
transactions. They were also ambitious to be regarded as 
poets, especially those who lived secluded.* St. Grodric 
was a severe anchorite recluse ; he wore an iron shirt next 
his skin, and it is recorded that he wore out three by con- 
stant use. He mingled ashes with his flour ; and lest it 
might be too palatable, he kept it four months before he 
ate it. One scrap from the mind of this recluse is 
imitated by Andrews thus : — 

" I weep while I sing 
For anguish to see 
Through my fast -gushing tears, all nailed to a tree, 
My Saviour so good, while his heart's dearest blood 

Is streaming for me. 
For me. too, each wound is torn open again, 
While Mary's deep sorrows still add to my pain," 

There are several scraps which were the produce of this 
period. In one of the Harleian Manuscripts are several, 
addressed to the Virgin. "We will venture to quote the fol- 
lowing specimens, given by Mr. 'Wharton. 

* The austerities of some of the priests were most extraordinary, 
The names of St. Polycronus. St. Burnadotus, St. Adhelm, St. Do- 
rothea, and St. Macarius, stand eminent in the list of these visionaries. 
They bear a very strict affinity to the Pagan fanatics, and help to 
prove one allegation — viz. that Romanism is Paganism. 



6 



THE SPIRIT OF 



" Blessed be thou, Levely, ful of Heavene's blisse, 
Sweet flower of Pareys, moder of mildness, 
Pray ye, Ihesu, thi sone, that he may rede and wysse 
So my way for to you, that me he never mysse." 

The above has been modernized by a very able author, 
thus : — 

" Maiden mother mild, hear my humble prayer : 
From shame thy suppliant shield, and from vice's snare. 
For thy Blessed Child, me from treasons keep. 
I was loose and wild ; now in prison deep." 

There is also a love song, which we will dare to quote : — 

" Blow, northern wynd, seate thou me, my sueteynge blow, 
Northern wynd, blow, blow, blow ; 
Ich of a burd in boure bright 
That fully seemly is on sight." 

The language is so obscure, that we may give the follow- 
ing translation of an industrious author : — 

" Bleak dost thou blow, oh ! northern wind ; 
Yet could I hail thee soft and kind, 
Were thy harsh -howling blast inclined 
To waft my charmer hither. 

" Bright in her bower sits my fair, 
Gay as the songsters of the air. 
None with sweetness to her can compare : 
Ah ! would that I were with her." 

Whilst referring to the poetry of this age, we will quote 
one more piece, warranted by Camden as thrown out by 
Hugh Bigod, a turbulent Earl of Norfolk, against Henry 
II., who, however, soon brought the boaster low : — 

" Were I in my castle of Bungay, 
Upon the river Waveney, 
I would not care for the Kynge of Cockneye." 

The most popular poetry of the twelfth century was 



THE VATICAN. 



7 



that of the provincial troubadour. Perhaps the following 
may form a suitable specimen, written on account of 
Eleonora's long imprisonment: — "Daughter of Aquitania, 
fair fruitful vine, thou hast been torn from thy country 
and led into a strange land. Thy harp is changed into 
the voice of mourning, and thy songs into sounds of 
lamentation. Brought up in delicacy and abundance, 
thou enjoyedst a royal liberty, living in the bosom of 
wealth, delighting thyself with the sports of thy women, 
with their songs, to the sound of the lute and tabor ; and 
now thou mournest, thou weepest, thou consumest thyself 
with sorrow. Return, poor prisoner, — return to thy cities, 
if thou canst; and if thou canst not, weep and say, ' Alas ! 
how long is my exile !' Weep, weep, and say, ' My tears 
are my bread, both day and night!' Where are thy 
guards — thy royal escort ? Where thy maiden train, thy 
counsellors of state ? Some of them, dragged far from 
thy country, have suffered an ignominious death ; others 
have been deprived of sight ; others banished, and wan- 
dering in divers places ! Thou criest, but no one hears 
thee ! for the King of the North keeps thee shut up, like 
a town that is besieged. Cry then ; cease not to cry. 
Raise thy voice like a trumpet, that thy sons may hear it ; 
for the day is approaching, when thy sons shall deliver 
thee, and then shalt thou see again thy native land!" 
This extract, from Chronic. Ricardi Pictarrensis,, reminds 
us of Ossian's wild and sublime style. The scraps we have 
set out are mostly to be found in that excellent collection 
by Andrews. 

Amongst the monks of the twelfth century were several 
good musicians. Guido Ardin is named by Baronius, as 
having made great discoveries in music for the use of 
churches. A monk (Ailred) ridicules the practice* 



8 



THE SPIRIT OF 



" One," he says, " restrains his breath, another breaks 
his breath, and sometimes they fall a quivering like the 
neighing of horses. At other times they appear in the 
agonies of death ; their eyes roll ; their shoulders are 
moved upwards and downwards." It is recorded that the 
Saxon Matilda was a great and constant patroness of music. 
The organ, the harp, and the horn were much used. 

During the reign of Henry II. there was a practice of 
illuminating missals, which the monks themselves exe- 
cuted in a most perfect and beautiful style; and so dur- 
able, that they still dazzle our eyes with the brightness 
of their colour and the splendour of their gilding. The art 
of portrait painting had attained great excellence. Wil- 
liam of Malmesbury tells us, that when a certain bandit 
wished to waylay Archbishop Anselm, they sent an excel- 
lent artist to Rome, who took his likeness without his 
knowledge; which coming to the hearing of the Arch- 
bishop, he avoided them, knowing that no disguise would 
protect him. 

In agriculture the priests were much skilled. The 
foreign monks brought many improvements from Nor- 
mandy. The monk Gervaise says, that Thomas a Becket 
condescended to go with his clergy and assist the neigh- 
bours in reaping their corn and housing their hay. Indeed, 
the knowledge of husbandry was considered so funda- 
mental and meritorious, that a decree in the Lateran 
Council (a. d. 1179), encourages every monk to be a 
farmer, and holds out to him, while so employed, indul- 
gences and protection. 

There was a most sweet and palatable wine (almost 
equal to Champagne and the superior French wines) pro- 
duced by a monk in Gloucester. The state of agriculture, 
during the twelfth century, will be fully seen by perusal 



THE VATICAN. 



9 



of an elaborate work written by a monk of the name of 
Grervaise. From his description of the implements of 
husbandry, Mr. Strutt thinks they were very much like 
those now in use. 

It was in the year 1176, that one Coleman, a priest, 
began to build London Bridge of stone. It was about 
thirty-three years ere it was finished, and the course of 
the Thames was changed during that time. It is not too 
much to say, that modern architecture is only truly beauti- 
ful and permanently useful when it partakes of the prin- 
ciples dictated and involved in the works of our ancestors. 
I refer particularly to the ecclesiastical fabrics of the middle 
ages; and, notwithstanding the destruction and rapine 
during the reign of Henry the Eighth, and the period of 
the Commonwealth, as well as the violence of barbarous 
and wicked men at various times, there are still remaining 
many reliques of the architectural beauty, of rich and ex- 
quisite finish, displayed during this age. 

Indeed the Christians of the nineteenth century must 
feel much abashed when they observe the splendour and 
expensive elegance of the cathedrals and churches of our 
ancestors. Their rich and elaborate masonry and sculp- 
ture, as well as the beauteous and masterly paintings in 
windows, and other suitable ornaments, create a certain 
exquisite thrill in the beholder, almost amounting to 
veneration. 

It may be true that much superstition and extravagant 
ceremony existed at the time we are referring to ; yet it 
is most reasonable to presume, that devotedness and 
veneration for the Deity dictated the liberal and magni- 
ficent expenditure with which our ancestors built and 
ornamented those places in which they met to worship 
their God. Alas ! these are days when men build ceiled 



10 



THE SPIEIT OF 



houses for luxury and self-indulgence, regardless of expense ; 
whilst they use the meanest calculation in the disbursement 
of any portion of their riches for the honour of that place 
where God hath promised to meet his people. It is 
scarcely more than twenty years since the commission 
was issued, under which a great number of churches have 
been built ; and although many of them are large and 
commodious, yet they all want in that massive splendour 
and holy beauty which characterize the churches of our 
ancestors. Some Apologists and Utilitarians may reply, 
that mere accommodation is all that has been aimed at, 
or is required by such persons. We admit that a 
luke-warm spirit may be satisfied; but a truly fervent 
spirit will repeat the thought of the prophet, " Ah ! ye 
build to yourselves ceiled houses, but the mansions of 
Christ are left waste." 

The monasteries contained many men of learning and 
study ; for at this time the Universities of Oxford and 
Cambridge could afford but an insecure and very scanty 
asylum for students, having been so often plundered by 
Dane and Norman successively. It was not until the very 
end of the twelfth century that these sister-seminaries 
flourished. Anthony a, Wood states, that at this time 
Oxford had about 4000 students, and Cambridge about 
3000. Some of the provincial academies were much 
preferred. The accomplished Alexander Neckham speaks 
(a little after this period) in terms of deep affection when 
referring to St. Alban's Academy ; he says, 

" Hie locus aetatis nostrae primordia novit, 
Annos felices, letitiaeque dies. 
Hie locus ingenuis pueriles imbuit annos 
Artibus, et nostras laudis origo fuit.'' 



THE VATICAN. 



11 



Which perhaps may be rendered thus : — 

In this retreat young life thus stole away : 
What peaceful nights ! whilst science ruled the day. 
'Twas here I gathered all of learning's weal, 
Which won that fame I own and none can steal. 

Many of the priests, including Thurston, Archbishop of 
York, and A'Beckett, previous to his primacy, did not 
scruple to join in the field of battle, and harangue the 
soldiers with that energy and sublime eloquence which 
their superior education and holy profession gave great 
effect to. M. Paris states, that combats often decided 
ecclesiastical causes. The Prior of Tinmouth, Ralph 
Gussion, fought, by his champion, a man of gigantic sta- 
ture, one Pegun, concerning a species of exhibition for the 
maintenance of students. During the Toulouse wars, 
A'Beckett, when Archdeacon, engaged in single combat 
and conquered Elgeran de Tres, a French knight, famous 
for his valour. Indeed, it may be assumed that the army 
was always attended by many priests, and other holy men, 
to comfort the dying, and officiate generally. The Cross, 
the emblem of peace, was too often raised as the banner of 
war, to urge men to defy death, and seek the blood of their 
foes with redoubled energy. The soldiers were oft told, 
that it was a war for home and religion ; and the cross was 
raised, bearing the figure of our Saviour pierced with 
wounds, round which chief and serf bowed in humble vene- 
ration, vowing to stand or fall by this sacred banner. In- 
deed it may be said — which cannot be said in these tem- 
perate and reforming days — religion was in all their ways. 
Without desiring here to discuss any of the doctrines of 
Catholicism, it may be enough to say that its administra- 
tions were fascinating to all. They brought the poorest in 
communication with the priesthood, and were conducted 



12 



THE SPIRIT OF 



so as to suit the taste of the elegant and refined, as well as 
to associate with the main interests and objects of those 
kings of the earth, who were willing to concede to the 
Church supremacy and divine immutability. But when- 
ever any of the Church's assumptions were disputed, the 
head of that Church became maddened, cunning, and re- 
lentless; and perverted her heaven-born nature, for the 
purpose of securing the honour and dominion of this trans- 
itory world. 

The year 1160 produced great excitement. The eccle- 
siastical powers were suddenly ruffled and distended with the 
hideous passions of party ; and the gorgeous mantle of the 
order was to be seen struggling promiscuously with the 
mass of disputants. The whole Latin Church reeled in 
discord, owing to the sudden death of Adrian, the only 
Englishman who ever occupied the Papal chair. This 
was followed by an unusual circumstance — viz. a double 
election by the cardinals of Octavian and Orlando to the 
Roman pontificate: Orlando taking the name of Alex- 
ander III. ; Octavian, Victor IV. There had been many 
earlier disputes between Popes, from 900 to 1120, wherein 
many (eighty) bloody battles were fought ; and terms, un- 
grateful to truth and honour, often served as a compro- 
mise. The greatest and the bravest of emperors were in- 
sulted by the violence and treason of these dissentient 
priests. Frederick Barbarossa was struggling to rescue so 
much of the power as his predecessors had lost ; and cited 
all Europe, both Popes, and all the Cardinals, Bishops of 
Germany, Italy, &c. Victor obeyed ; but Alexander re- 
fused, replying, " Christ has given to St. Peter and his 
successors the privilege of judging all cases wherein the 
Church had concern; which right the see of Rome has 
always exercised, and has never submitted to any other 



THE VATICAN. 



13 



judgment." At this council were fifty bishops, the King 
of Bohemia and Denmark, with almost all the distinguished 
princes of Europe. The Kings of England and France 
sent their ambassadors ; yet Alexander resisted their sum- 
mons, and denied their right. This was one of those 
occasions, when the veneration which time had granted to 
the Pontificate was rent aside by its own hand. It was 
then and thus that the multitude were able to discern the 
earthly parts of that system they once thought altogether 
immutable and divine. It was then that the tongue was 
seen in the adder ; it was then that the poison was de- 
tected in the soporific draught, which had for ages been 
administered to the docile and unsuspecting millions, who 
supplicated the priesthood for the charity of intercession 
with their Maker. The power of nominating, or rather 
determining, the title to the pontificate, eventually turning 
between France and England, became very much a matter 
of state policy, and, in Henry's mind, but one of the 
many atoms of which he fashioned his power, 

In the midst of many distracting circumstances, with a 
constant succession of new and important anxieties, the 
mind of the king was constantly assailed by the strategetic 
appeals of the respective cardinals who sought the title 
and supreme power of St. Peter's chair. (See Appendix, 
No. II.) Indeed, the First Plantagenet was sometimes com- 
pelled to make terms with the evil spirit of Papacy ; for, 
whilst he was executing the arduous and active duties of 
a sovereign possessing an extensive and divided territory, 
the Vatican was employing every attribute and func- 
tion belonging to its being, for the purpose of sup- 
pressing the influence of the independent spirit of the 
King of England, and occupying that ambitious disposi- 
tion which diverted him from the cause of civil and reli- 
gious liberty. 



14 



THE SPIRIT OF 



The Toulouse war happened in the reign of Hen. II., and 
attracted adventurers from all orders of society, and many 
priests of various nations. Indeed, in this age, all things 
were devoted to war, and bore its impress. It was then, 
as now, an occupation which raises a standard before the 
eyes of men, which challenges many of the noblest parts of 
their nature, tendering gauds and honours in exchange for 
blood, and shewing pyramids for their manes to rest under. 
It takes man away from the lingering sorrows of domestic 
life, and makes an independent way to Death's domains. 
We may loathe when we look upon the ravages war has 
made ; yet we must admit that it has scenes in which the 
leading parts of the soul must be brought into vigorous 
action ; and all that is solid and brilliant in the spirit is 
elicited and concentrated in one focus of bold and dauntless 
resolution. Such an organization then takes place, that 
soul and body seem electrified into one excited and impas- 
sioned power. This was an age of chivalry ; and all orders 
of society, including even the priesthood, seemed ever 
ready to follow the clarion trumpet of war. It was a dis- 
position gratifying to the monarch, and aggrandizing to 
the people. 

Perhaps one of the most remarkable facts during this 
distinguished reign, was the subjugation of Ireland to 
the Papal Power, which involved the assertion of the 
papal right to bestow kingdoms and empires, and is the 
origin of the connection between Great Britain and 
Ireland. The Irish Church had been united in fellow- 
ship with the Romish Church by the exertions of Saint 
Malachi ; but the claims of the prelates to exclusive pri- 
vileges were long resisted by the native Irish princes and 
the inferior clergy, who were strongly attached to their 
ancient institutions. 



THE VATICAN. 



15 



In the year 1155, Pope Adrian had issued a bull 
granting Ireland to Henry II. By reading this bull (see 
Appendix, No. III.) it will be seen how the Pope and 
Henry dissimulated. This was communicated to the 
Irish hierarchy by Henry ; yet some years expired ere the 
Irish hierarchy were subdued to acquiescence in this vio- 
lent and unholy proceeding. About 1171, circumstances 
effected a lodgement for the English arms in Ireland, and 
then the brief was read at Cashel, with a confirmatory 
letter from the reigning Pope, Alexander III. ; and the 
severest censures of the Church were threatened on all 
who should ever dare to impeach this donation of the 
holy see. The Pope pretended that he thought Henry 
was seeking the conquest of Ireland for the purpose of 
weeding it of sin ; whilst Henry pretended to believe the 
Pope's dissimulation, at the same time alleging false pre- 
tences for seeking Ireland. When we consider the proxi- 
mity of Ireland and England, and the fertility of the 
former, we need not be surprised that it attracted the 
eyes of Henry, who set no bounds to his ambition. Ire- 
land had not yet acknowledged the supremacy of the Pope, 
and Henry's power began to assume a very extensive and 
independent character ; indeed it is easy to understand 
the Pope's anxiety to attract Henry by a new temptation, 
and therefore promised him that Ireland should bow be- 
fore his arms, upon terms including its subjugation to the 
Papal Power. This was an epoch when the greatest 
power and splendour distinguished England, and the 
glory and power of the Vatican began to fade before the 
greater glory of England's monarch; and it is probable 
the Pope considered that the enterprise to Ireland would 
be just enough to distract and divert Henry from his main 
occupation. 



16 



THE SPIRIT OF 



The conduct of Henry in this affair was unlike his usual 
policy; it weakened the power and reduced the dignity 
of the civil monarch, whilst it rendered the ecclesiastical 
power confident and intolerant. 

There have been modern statesmen who have thought 
that the pure things of heaven may be bartered at the 
shambles of expedient-mongers, or sacrificed at the altar 
of the demagogue. This is an error which will cost them 
all their fame, and mark them as the enemies of sound 
government. Henry's bold and striking character might 
have served the cause of civil and religious liberty (by 
which we mean, not freedom from laws, either religious or 
civil, as some term civil and religious liberty, but a living 
under good laws both civil and religious) much more ex- 
tensively, and kept the Papal domination down ; but, 
amongst other imprudent concessions, was that of receiv- 
ing Ireland * as a gift from Pope Adrian ;f and, at the 
same time, and in the very grant, as appears by M. Paris, 
he submitted to be told of his own acknowledgment, 
" That every island in which no Christianity had gained 



* Ireland, Irin, Ierna, Iuverna, Ionerma, Bernia, or Hybernia. The 
origin of the word Erin, is by some considered to be derived from an 
Irish word meaning west. The Irish are by some historians traced 
beyond the flood. Others, less prejudiced, say that from the third age 
of the world, Ireland was inhabited by Scyths, who were afterwards 
augmented by Spaniards. Religion and learning flourished in Ireland, 
but a civil war rendered it an easy prey to foreign invasion. During 
the Saxon Dynasty, many Saxons were educated in Ireland. 

"f" Adrian, the only Englishman who became Pope. He succeeded 
Anastatius, and at his decease came the double election of Alexander 
and Paschal. His name was Nicholas Breakspear, said to be the son 
of a bondman belonging to the Abbey of St. Albans, who being re- 
fused to be made a monk, went beyond the sea, and improved so in 
learning, that the Pope made him Bishop of Alba, and afterwards a 
cardinal. He proved an active and zealous Pope, although he held 
the Papal chair but four years ; he put the City of Rome under an 
interdict for insulting one of his cardinals, and excommunicated 
William of Sicily. Adrian died in 1 158. 



THE VATICAN. 



17 



the ascendant, belonged of right to St. Peter and the holy 
Roman Church." However, the mind of Henry seemed 
at times more than a match for the whole papal and ec- 
clesiastical politicians. During the reign of this prince the 
papal chair had many occupants ; but they were all awed 
by his monarchical bearing, for he was not only a bold 
and enterprising warrior, but, on most critical occasions, 
he proved himself a keen and vigilant politician; and 
some have thought that he acted wisely in appearing 
so docile in respect to Ireland, and that by such conces- 
sions he baffled the Pope, his rebellious Primate, and even 
the King of France, and preserved the royal and consti- 
tutional power from that entire devastation by which it 
was oft threatened. 

It was in this reign that so much disputation took place 
touching clerical marriage. The voice and influence of 
the Pope were directed against this most genial rite of 
nature. In spite of severe persecution, there were very 
excellent men who would not give up the soft society of 
woman. Yes ! that confiding and devoted creature still 
adhered to the side of man, although at times under an 
opprobious name, and without that ornament, the wedding 
ring, which had long been used, by the honest Saxons. 
There was nothing in the office of priest to render it in- 
dependent of those tender and noble affections which the 
ethereal character of woman has ever awakened ; indeed many 
of the bishops, deacons, and inferior priests had proved 
themselves ready and skilful in all the excitements and 
dangers of the tournament, where woman sat to place 
the chaplet around the brow of the victor. 

Pope Innocent contended that the priests should be en- 
tirely separated from those natural connections and con- 
tracts which have ever produced strong sympathies, and 

c 



18 



THE SPIRIT OF 



quickened the best affections. They were to regard the 
world as a panorama passing before them, and on no 
account to touch or associate with the beautiful beings 
sent by bounteous Heaven to enliven and adorn it. 

The result of this interdiction on marriage is too well 
known. None were rendered more virtuous or active in 
holiness ; none became more charitable to the poor, or 
benevolent to the sick ; but thousands erected a system of 
selfish indulgence which monopolised their whole nature, 
and turned men into fiends. This is the certain conse- 
quence, when any one of the provident laws of Heaven is 
pushed aside to make room for man's inventions. The princi- 
ples of Christianity required no such distortion, that man on 
earth should at all times, whilst on earth, affect the sub- 
limated and pure nature of angels. The prohibition of 
marriage was one very strong evidence of the blindness 
and fallibility of the Papacy ; it gave rise to the general 
concubinage of the clergy, and turned the monasteries and 
nunneries into brothels, in which the most flagrant vices 
(including even murder) were constantly committed. 
That pure and stainless nature, which the Church had as- 
sumed, was soon beclouded by those dark and degrading 
blemishes, which no powers of the Yatican could ever en- 
tirely hide from the observation of men. Religion was no 
longer the handmaid of civilization, but became an obstacle 
to social love and peace. From the heavenly vocation of 
leading the blind, and teaching the thousands to control 
the fierce passions of their nature — of asserting pure and 
high principles as the best security for all — the priests 
became evildoers, and degenerated into oppressors, who 
surrounded themselves with the filth of their vices, and be- 
came loathsome as the swine in the mire. Some of the su- 
perior priests, as Adrian at Bruges, and Abbe Truckles, had 



THE VATICAN. 



19 



their harem, after the manner of the Eastern monarchs. 
No pen can describe the crimes of the Roman priests — their 
plots, their incests, and assassinations. Before the Re- 
formation there were few who were innocent, from the 
sovereign pontiff to the humblest curate. The facetious 
Walter Mapes, the jovial Archdeacon of Oxford and Chap- 
lain of Henry IL, (See Appendix, IV.) ridicules the Pope's 
interdiction thus, or rather it is thus translated : — 

" Priscian's head to break, 'tis said, 

It is your intention : 
Hie and Hcec he bids us take 

To the Priest's declension. 
One of these you harshly seize, 

And rob us of our treasure : 
Hie alone for Hcec must moan, 

'Tis our pontiff's pleasure. 
Inconsistent Innocent ! 

HI that name thou claimest, 
Who, when young, didst joy among 

What, grown old, thou blamest. 
Shame await thy grisly pate, 

And thy heart so rotten ! 
Wanton toys and youthful joys 

Hast thou quite forgoten ? 
Sons of war, all similar, 

From soldiers see descending : 
From each king see princes spring, 

Princes else were ending. 
Mourn we then for holy men ; 

Woful their disgrace is ; 
They alone must furnish none 

To supply their places." 

In the middle of the twelfth century the spiritual power 
adopted a moderate tone, whilst it negociated with the 
civil Government ; but some circumstances very soon proved 
that the Pope demanded the veneration of kings and people ; 
and to attain this he scrupled not to use any means, how- 

c 2 



20 



THE SPIRIT OF 



ever unjust and disgraceful. He professed to have all 
knowledge and all power, and struggled to exercise that 
universal arbitrement which belongs to the Deity. He 
demanded a complete supremacy (see Appendix, V.), as well 
as the right to make and determine the wars of nations 
and the disputes of kings with their subjects. It would 
be easy to prove that the Popes have ever been the secret 
and open enemies of civil monarchy, and that their 
intrigues have caused more bloodshed in war than all other 
causes. It was intended to place in the Appendix a very 
brief Biography of the Popes, with a relation of the wars 
they have respectively fomented; but for the present we 
have noticed one only, viz. Alexander VI.,* who obtained 
St. Peter's chair by the foul influence of bribery. It may 
be as well to detail more fully some circumstances which 
occurred in the reign of Henry II., as they expose the 
spirit of the Vatican, and furnish a picture of Popery 
in contention with one of the most noble and chivalric 
princes that ever reigned in Christendom. The Papacy 
sought entire dominion over the human mind ; and this 
object began to glimmer before the acute eye of Henry, 
who regarded it as one step towards reducing the au- 
thority of the civil power. The influence of this 
mighty prince penetrated into those interstices of society 
where monarchy had never before reached. Even the 
moral authority once attached to the name of King had 
faded during the reign of Stephen ; for then, in the midst 
of social anarchy, men knew not where to go for protec- 
tion against the assaults of the violent. There had been 

* Alexander VI. was raised to the chair of St. Peter, although his 
notorious immoralities whilst cardinal exceeded all description. 
During his pontificate he committed murder, incest, and rape with im- 
punity, and died by drinking poison he had prepared for certain rich 
cardinals whose property he desired to possess. (See Appendix, VI.) 



THE VATICAN. 



21 



the framework of a system, but it had, during that king's 
reign, become unreal and powerless, employing all its 
faculties for supporting its mere state. 

So debilitated and impure had the chief government 
become, and so many inferior powers had created them- 
selves in various parts of England, all regardless of the 
public good, that the constitution seemed tottering to 
destruction. Some prompt and special interposition seemed 
almost indispensable to supply the deficiency of mortal 
government, and restore some degree of unity and order. 
All parts of society were wanting some supereminent 
being, under whose protection they might live, and upon 
whom they might always depend for protection. It was 
at this crisis that Providence raised up this noble and 
generous monarch, Henry II., who required not the au- 
thority of ancestral rights, nor the aid of long-settled 
institutions ; for his genius was so elevated and independ- 
ent, that its action aggrandized its owner to the highest 
degree of magnificence and dignity. In its career, there 
was a glory about it so conspicuous and transcendant, 
that whilst the noble and great felt it honourable 
to be allied to it, the vicious shrunk before its deve- 
lopment. His predecessors had been satisfied with the 
title of king, and gratified with their limited territo- 
ries in France, and were content to be " lord of lords but 
he had determined to hold England in one hand and 
France in the other, and plant his standard in lands 
almost unknown to his predecessors, and, (if we may be 
allowed the expression), bearing the inscription "King of 
kings." He was the sun and shield of all. Yes ! he was 
the soul of his people ; and through him every hope, 
every wish, and every fear passed, ere it could have prac- 
tical character. His public conduct secured for him the 



22 



THE SPIRIT OF 



highest dignity of monarchy — viz. chief conservator of 
public peace. He seemed endued with the vital organs 
just adapted to the imperial and massive genius of mon- 
archy. Subject to some peculiar exceptions, it may be 
said that under whatever point of view we regard the cha- 
racter of Henry, we may discover the means of its strength 
and influence to arise from his entire devotedness. It 
was, in truth, the leading character in Europe ; and all 
that was seeking advancement or honour joined in its 
train ; its course was definitive and progressive ; it aroused 
every kind of activity, and not only sanctioned but graced 
every kind of improvement with its favour; it became, 
not only for sovereigns but even for nations, the type and 
model of real power ; it became at last so splendid and 
well-established, that it promised to guard and guide the 
whole destiny of Europe ; it seemed to have determined to 
alter the genius of the nation it then presided over. Henry 
II., as king, warrior, and statesman, had no equal ; he was far 
above and beyond the day in which he lived. His private cha- 
racter was the display of superiority which a refined and 
elegant mind was ever striving to hide — it was seductive and 
interesting. (SeeApp. VII.) Such was the dignity of the 
prince whose long resistance of papal authority awakened, 
in some degree, the glorious Reformation ; but whose spirit, 
because ambitious and glory-seeking, was ultimately over- 
whelmed by the intrigues of the Vatican. Although there 
ever was an inherent enmity in Popery towards civil mon- 
archy, yet it has been the policy of the Popes to endeavour 
to hide this predisposition from the observation of the 
monarchs of Europe, except when the papal power ap- 
peared irresistible. This demand of supremacy, this hos- 
tility to civil monarchs, is not a mere incident, but belongs 
to the very existence and nature of the Vatican. 



THE VATICAN. 



23 



The elevation of Thomas A'Becket to the chair of Can- 
terbury gave birth to a sudden, protracted, and irritable dis- 
cussion between the Papal Power and the King of England. 
It would be needless to enter into much detail of the cause 
of the dispute between the Primate and his Sovereign. 
Previous to the elevation of A'Becket he had ever affected 
extreme jealousy of the presumptions of the Church, and de- 
clared his resolution to aid the King in sustaining the 
supremacy of the civil power. Great was the dismay of 
the King, when he discovered that almost immediately 
A'Becket became Archbishop of Canterbury, he avowed 
himself the most resolute advocate for the rights of the 
Church, and the foremost rebel to civil power. To use 
the words of the historian, " No change was ever so sud- 
den and violent as that which appeared in this prelate, 
immediately upon his election." The refusal of the Primate 
to sign the Constitutions of Clarendon (See App. VIII.) left 
no doubt in the mind of the King that the hour had arrived 
for him to make an example of the Primate, and to resist 
every encroachment of the ecclesiastical corporation. Lord 
Lyttleton says, the Prior of the Temple had persuaded 
A'Becket to submit to the order of the King. A'Becket 
then said, in the presence of all the bishops, these very 
remarkable words : " It is my master's pleasure that 
I should forswear myself, and at present I submit to 
it, and do resolve to incur perjury, and repent after- 
wards as I may." The bishops then heard him with 
astonishment; yet as he enjoined them by their ca- 
nonical obedience, they signed and sealed the Constitu- 
tions ; but to the utter surprise of all, A'Becket himself 
refused. After this time, A'Becket became anxious to 
secrete himself in France under the protection of the King 
(Louis) and the Pope ; and although it was a high misde. 



24 



THE SPIRIT OF 



meanour to leave the kingdom without the King's permis- 
sion, and particularly forbidden by the Constitutions of 
Clarendon, yet A'Becket made two energetic attempts; 
but the King and his council were delighted to hear 
that the Archbishop had not succeeded in his attempts, 
because such was the state of King Henry's Norman 
possessions, that A'Becket, who knew all his secrets, 
could have then created most extensive and irreparable 
injury, by communicating them to the Pope, and 
many disaffected vassals in those parts. The whole 
conduct of the Primate evinced his anxiety to subdue the 
civil power to an abject obedience to the ecclesiastical; 
and venturing the displeasure of all men, by shielding 
every priest who broke the laws of the land, he 
became at last so offensive, that the counsellors of the 
King declared that A'Becket' s object was to place the 
crown of England on the head of an ecclesiastic ; or, at 
any rate, that he who would be King of England must be 
content to be slave to the Archbishop, who was but a 
vassal of the Pope, and ever obedient to his nod. Such 
awakening and candid declarations aroused Henry to seek 
a combat with A'Becket, which should be more decisive. 
A'Becket discovered that he was regarded by all good 
men as a traitor, and a most ungrateful subject of a most 
generous and just monarch. He was therefore anxious 
to convince all his brethren that the King was the enemy 
of the Holy Church ; and he produced much sympathy, 
and many were the prayers offered for the Archbishop. 

The mass at the altar of St. Stephen was attended with 
great form, and A'Becket ordered it to begin with these 
words : " Princes sat and spoke against," &c. ; also the second 
Psalm : " The rulers take counsel together against the 
Lord and against his Anointed." There were yet some who 



THE VATICAN. 



25 



no longer sought an extension of powers for the Church, 
but began to consider how she might best secure those she 
possessed ; some who continued to advise A'Becket to 
moderate his carriage and conduct, for they saw there 
were many lurking heresies ready to declare themselves 
whenever there was a leader sufficiently distinguished; 
that light was bursting forth amidst their evil doings. 
Others there were who feared lest the capacities of the 
Vatican were not sufficiently matured for the approach- 
ing contest with civil power ; and they would have been 
content awhile longer to stand at the foot, or wait around 
the throne, as the gear and paraphernalia of civil mon- 
archy. Indeed some of the Bishops, particularly Salis- 
bury and Norwich, besides Robert Earl of Leicester, 
Reginald Earl of Cornwall, the two Templars Richard de 
Hastings and Tostes de St. Omer, and others, counselled 
A'Becket to bow altogether to the King's power ; but the 
march of the Reformation had begun, and the lightning of 
Heaven which was to blast the foundations of Papacy in 
England, had left the altar of the Holy One ; and no policy 
could stay that concussion which awakened man to the 
knowledge of that independence and divinity with which 
his Maker had endowed him. The thunder which then 
rolled across the universe still reverberates in the ears of 
the faithful ; and when the sea shall give up her dead, then 
will that thunder still be heard joining in the destruction 
of all that is evil in the sight of God. The Archbishop de- 
spised the advice of his friends, and replied to the Bishop 
of London, " The king's weapon can indeed kill the body, 
but mine can destroy the soul and send it to hell." Many 
were the insults which the king suffered whilst attempting to 
induce A'Becket to return to his allegiance. A'Becket pre- 
served throughout the most inflated and often blasphemous 



26 



THE SPIRIT OF 



character, assuming the character of Jesus when tempted 
by Satan. When the King endeavoured to persuade him 
to be reconciled, he told the King that his observations 
reminded him of the words of the devil to our Saviour : 
" All this will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and wor- 
ship me." At another time he told the King, in a letter, 
that no one had yet injured the see of Canterbury, without 
being corrected or crushed by our Lord Jesus Christ. One 
of the most infamous and insulting parts of his conduct 
towards the King, was an attempt to make the King per- 
jure himself, by consenting to do that which he had sworn 
he would not do — viz. to give him the kiss of good-will on 
his ( A'Becket' s) return to England : and, when writing to 
the Pope his report of the interview with the King on his 
arrival in England, he boasts that he had entrapped the 
King, and compelled Henry II., king of England, to perjure 
himself. Such was the influence of this priest at Rome, 
and wherever the power of the Vatican was dominant ; in deed 
all orders of society watched this dispute with the greatest 
anxiety. Upon one occasion, the Archbishop of Rouen 
had the daring to tell the King to his face, that if the Pope 
should issue a mandate, prohibiting him communicating 
with the King of England, whilst he was involved in a dis- 
pute with his Archbishop (A'Becket), he, the Archbishop 
of Rouen, would refuse to speak or correspond with the 
King. Upon one occasion, the Pope offered to absolve the 
King from his solemn vow, as to not giving the kiss to 
A'Becket; Henry replied, that he could not accept it; 
for it reminded him of the answer which his grandfather 
Henry I. gave to another Pope (Calistus II.), who proffered 
to absolve him from a certain oath : " The Pope says that 
his apostate power will absolve me from a solemn vow I 
have taken ; but it does not seem agreeable to the honour 



THE VATICAN. 



27 



of a King that I should consent to such absolution (see 
Appendix, IX.) ; for who will afterwards trust my promise, 
made upon oath, if, by example of what has been done in 
my case, it should have been shewn that the obligation of 
an oath may be so easily cancelled ? " It would have been 
honourable to the memory of this great monarch, if his 
whole conduct in this dispute had been as firm and pure 
as the principle involved in this declaration of his grand- 
father ; but we must regret that his conduct was at times 
vacillating, and wholly unlike his general character. The 
truth is, that in this dispute, nominally with A'Becket, 
he was oft contending with all the powers of Europe, to 
whom the Vatican was as the heart to the human body. 
Indeed, such were the extent and ramification of intrigue 
that was ever agitating the deliberations of the Papal 
Council, that no civil potentate long enjoyed peace or in- 
dependence : Henry was oft driven to a simple and entire 
dependence on his own original nature and genius, and to 
erect himself with a gaunt and physical defiance, chal- 
lenging the whole world. 

The tyranny and breach of faith which distinguished 
the contracts of the Vatican so wholly disgusted the King 
of England, that he often preferred to declare himself its 
open enemy, rather than depend upon it for its aid. It was 
upon these occasions that he cut through the intertwin- 
ings and entanglements of those intrigues his honest mind 
was unable to understand. The principles of government 
and policy were in those days rendered so extremely diffi- 
cult, owing to the influence of Papery and other circum- 
stances, that it is impossible to judge what course was 
most likely to secure peace and good government in Eng- 
land. Besides, it is certain that the papal eye regarded 
Henry as a rival not easily won or intimidated by the 



28 



THE SPIRIT OF 



ordinary agencies of its power. The Vatican had watched 
every development of Henry's character, which had, from 
the commencement of his reign, aroused inextinguishable 
jealousy and anxiety, if not deadly enmity, in that hier- 
archy, lest he should convince the world that there was 
a possibility of reigning as a king, independently of the 
pontifical thraldom ; for it was one of the hopes of the 
Vatican, that all the kings and emperors of Europe would 
virtually, if not in form, consent to a vassalage, as one 
of the terms of their holding their crowns ; and this hope 
was natural, for its very existence depended upon that 
benumbing tyranny which presided as a cloud of power 
over every governing principle. The reign of Henry II. 
often alarmed the Pope and his Cardinals ; but they were 
ever crafty and vigilant. It was reserved for other times 
to produce a king of England who should in so many 
words deny the Pope's supremacy. (See Appendix X.) 
Papists have said that the latter part of the King's life 
discovers his humble and repentant carriage ; indeed, the 
circumstances of A'Becket's death gave rise to rumours 
which, Henry thought, might be quelled by some consi- 
derable penances and services — affecting a deep sorrow for 
A'Becket's death; and that unless he consented to as- 
sume deep sorrow and humiliation, some of the various 
emissaries of the Vatican would assassinate him, or excite 
his people to absolute rebellion. If the secrets of the 
Council Chamber of Rome, and all which has been de- 
signed there for the last seven centuries, were made known 
to the people who still bow to her sovereignty, they would 
then add to the number who regard her with the greatest 
suspicion. Yes ! it is the awful and dismal shadow which 
the government of Popery has left, that induces alarm 
when any thing bearing the features and habits of Popery 



THE VATICAN. 



29 



appears in this land ; it is the long dark picture of time 
past, which, blending with fantastic imitations, as well as 
presumptuous concessions to error, of present times, 
awakens strong suspicion of what may be far less offen- 
sive, and yet not harmless. Such concessions and imita- 
tions may be regarded as crocodiles' eggs, which only re- 
quire some fervent changes to bring into existence an evil 
generation. The Pope (Alexander) says, in one of his 
letters, " If the King does not concede, he may depend, 
the Lord who now sleeps will awake, and the sword of 
St. Peter will not consume with rust, but will be drawn, 
and exercise a proper vengeance." Alexander, the 
chief of the Vatican, described this rebellious primate as 
the champion of Christ, and for his sake he banished 
many excellent and noble men, confiscating their estates 
and ruining their families; sometimes placing the king- 
dom of England and other kingdoms of Europe under 
interdicts, whereby the churches were closed, the sacra- 
ments forbidden to be administered, the dead buried in 
the highways — and, in some instances, the throne declared 
vacant, and the king pronounced an outcast, and the sub- 
jects absolved from their oaths of allegiance; indeed, the 
whole civilized world was sometimes seen reeling with 
convulsive horror and anguish, under the accumulating 
pains and penalties issued by the Pope of Rome. 

Many letters were written by the Pope and his cardi- 
nals, to the Archbishop, assuring him of his blessedness, 
and quoting the scriptural words, " Blessed are they who 
suffer persecution for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the 
kingdom of heaven." All this was the papal reward for a 
system of rebellion and opposition to his sovereign, and 
for endeavouring to excite others to the same evil and 
unfaithful conduct. At the same time the King was 



30 



THE SPIEIT OF 



assailed by insulting letters ; and in one of them the lan- 
guage of Pope Paschal II. to Henry I. is quoted as applic- 
able, and is thus — " Who doubts that the priests of 
Christ are the fathers and masters of kings and princes, 
and all the faithful? And it is acknowledged to be an act 
of madness for a son to oppose his father, or discipline his 
master, or attempt to reduce that person under his 
power, by whom he ought to believe that he may be 
bound or loosed, not only on earth but in heaven." Again, 
the King is told that he ought, like David, to humble him- 
self beneath the correction of the Church. Such was the 
comfort and aid rendered by the Vatican to one who had 
opposed the necessary course of public justice, and acted in 
defiance of the laws of his country, which he had solemnly 
acknowledged and confirmed. It was Roman Papacy 
defying the monarch of England ! — it was a season when 
the Roman Pontificate thought itself strong enough to 
declare its boundless and treasonous presumptions, which 
echoed from one end of Christendom to the other. The 
ambitious and blasphemous spirit of Popery was then bold, 
but is wily enough to be silent in these better times ; — 
so long silent, that some have thought it either dead, or its 
existence fabulous. It lives ! — though, like the prince of 
darkness, it is in chains at the feet of the Lion of Judah. 
There its monstrous being heaves with unutterable an- 
guish, couched in its scaly fold, with angry glistening orbs 
which roll with redoubled anguish as they watch the tribes 
of the faithful breaking their idols and bowing before 
the One God. 

We must look back ere we can pronounce what 
is the actual nature of the Roman Church; one 
chief object was, and ever has been, to depose human 
reason, and intercept the voice of Heaven. In the reign 



THE VATICAN. 



31 



of Henry II. its desolating policy was passing silently 
over the world, when kings and princes became alarmed ; 
for they felt their thrones tottering under them, and their 
lives in jeopardy ; and when they sought for a cause, they 
discovered that there was a mysterious craft and influ- 
ence in the depraved ecclesiastical power, (not palpably 
seen, yet gigantic) which threatened to deprive them of 
their state and possessions, unless they consented to hold 
them as vassals of the Vatican . It was in such seasons 
that the ecclesiastical power became endangered. 

Yet there was still a blind humiliation which it some- 
times secured, even from the greatest civil potentates, that 
enabled it to retain for a while its presumptuous and ex- 
travagant arrogance. It oft claimed to be the dictator, not 
only in religious matters, but in many important civil 
matters ; and, like all tyrants, became bold and cruel in 
effecting every end its pride desired. Its great assump- 
tion was that of a complete vicegerency of Heaven to rule 
the acts and rights of all men — to govern all thought, 
morals, opinions, and conscience. It was under the pro- 
tection of such unbounded power that it hoped to perpe- 
trate perjury, murder, incest, blasphemy, and unnatural 
crimes of the worst description. Such was the dark state 
of the world, that all conventions, more or less, were 
blindly bowing before the ecclesiastical dynasty ; and 
the mass ofttimes threw themselves, in the most humili- 
ating and sacrificing form, before this Juggernaut of Popery, 
To resist this leviathan, or check its progress, even for a 
time, became the task or privilege of a mind which could 
see beyond and out of the darkness around. It was not 
only necessary to awaken, but to guide, a sufficient means 
for the end ; and to divert, if possible, all the vast and 
valuable capacities of the Church to their proper vocation. 



32 



THE SPIRIT OF 



For this it required all the reason of a superior mind, 
with unprecedented physical powers ; but even these would 
ever have been insufficient for the great engagement, unless 
they had been upheld by the highest degree of station 
and authority, and free, in a great measure, from that 
passion and weakness which too generally mingle in man. 
It required a being, or rather a spirit, which could set up 
a standard of ethics and moral right, with an individual 
independence unaffected by the dark delusions around. It 
required a resolution, which neither the threats of the 
mighty could shake, nor the indifference of the superior 
class nor the torpor of the unnumbered multitude could 
distract from its great vocation. For it was a war of years, 
pointed against the prejudices of a mighty class which no 
man could number — against the partialities of nations of 
warriors and philosophers — and against the alliances and 
affections of many of the kings and potentates of the 
earth. The treasures of the world, the might of physical 
action, the patronage of honours and riches — the gifts of 
the present, and the promises and hopes of the future 
world- — were in possession of the great enemy that 
was now to be attacked. This enemy had held a for- 
tress impregnable for generations, whose towers once 
touched heaven, and whose foundations were now 
blanched with the bones of thousands who had pre- 
sumed to doubt its perfection, or to attempt to reduce 
its arrogance. But it now perceived that one of the 
champions of the human family, yet in his youth, in 
manhood's gallant hour, for a while with less earthly 
weakness, had thrown off the shackles which the human 
interpreters of the Divine will had cast upon him, 
and was not afraid to measure lances with the leaders 
of the Ecclesiastical Government. It was then that the 



THE VATICAN. 



33 



defensive life and faculty which reigned within their 
mystic arcana were first tried and contended with. 
There was then a sudden development of all that was 
splendid, mighty, and cruel. It was then, that the degree 
of criminality and unfaithfulness to which the tyranny of 
the Vatican had dared to extend itself, was added to 
the miscellaneous band of its powers. It was then, that 
the meanest of the monastic order was invited to 
cast all his tiny share of cloistered cunning and pelf into 
the gathering tide of the common cause ; which, fed by ten 
thousand tributary streams, did by the vastness of its 
aggregate astonish both friend and antagonist. It was 
then that the coffers of the Church, which had been filling 
during a long period of darkness, were opened and emptied 
forth, with a haste and zeal that afforded but little oppor- 
tunity of dstinguishing the tribute of blood, from the gold 
which common intimidation and promises had ground from 
generations long since hidden in their graves. It was then 
that the less differences between the superior and inferior 
ecclesiastics were willingly put aside, and even forgotten ; 
whilst every energy was put forth against the spirit 
which threatened to expose the human nature and imper- 
fection of that convention, which had been so long revered 
as altogether divine and immaculate. Yes ! it was then 
that national councils, provincial councils, general councils, 
with their perpetual correspondence and publication of 
letters and of admonitions, carefully exercised their functions 
with one common end. Not for the search of any great 
truth, was the intellectual life which resided in the bosom 
of this government then used, but for the preservation 
of principles vicious and destructive ! For it was then that 
the Church discovered that there still resided within the 
temporal power that brute and physical force, (the only 



34 



THE SPIRIT OF 



resuscitating means,) and which, if guided by a just and 
noble arm, would realize a government superior and more 
worthy of love than the ecclesiastical system was willing 
to provide. The Vatican had for some time felt, that as 
long as the temporal ruler was satisfied to receive a part of 
the plunder which its various agents had from time to time 
torn from the people, without investigating the degree and 
nature of the violence employed, there was still hope that 
the temporal power might be kept in subjection, and re- 
garded as the inferior power. It was when the civil 
government suddenly hesitated to lend to the Church its 
physical powers of punishment, and claimed for itself an 
individuality of character and action, that the ecclesiastical 
monarchy proved that its own mystic machinery, (however 
secret, demoniac, and cruel) which gleamed through inter- 
stices of the hierarchical fabric, was insufficient alone to 
keep at bay that spirit which had been provoked to 
wrestle in the gloom of moral darkness. For this spirit 
feared, that not only the Church was then about to be shorn 
of the remaining features of that moral beauty and inde- 
pendence which its Maker had mantled it with ; but that 
an arm was raised to destroy all the good order and public 
tranquillity of all the regular jurisdictions of the laws 
and of the king's sovereignty itself, and, by sure conse- 
quence, of the whole state. 

In plain language, Henry II. had observed that the pur- 
pose and object of the ecclesiastical power were wholly 
perverted : for it no longer even professed to be busied in 
those works of charity and love for which it had long been 
honoured, but was intent upon securing an entire inde- 
pendence of all civil power ; every bishop and archbishop 
being more anxious to maintain the privileges and digni- 
ties of the clergy as defined by themselves, than to correct 



THE VATICAN. 



35 



vices and earthly impurities. It was thus the clergy be- 
came offensive to the civil community ; for they assumed 
a license to do what they would with certain impunity, and 
without fear of God or man. Yet the treasonous conduct 
of A'Becket had induced Henry to correct the noto- 
rious iniquities and relaxation of discipline in the spiri- 
tual courts, as well as to stop their encroachments on points 
of jurisdiction ; — the constant system of the clergy, of ap- 
pealing their suits from the civil courts of England to the 
ecclesiastical courts of Rome, which were dilatory and 
fraudulent; — but, above all, the depraved disposition of the 
Roman see, which, in its relaxation of all principle and 
consistency, had so often evinced a willingness to absolve 
men from their oaths, and every obligation of law and 
honour that formed any obstacle to the indecent rapacity 
or arbitrary conduct of this encroaching hierarchy. Alas ! 
Henry's predecessor had tolerated many abuses which the 
name of religion had sanctified, and which could not be 
reformed without some violence, and the concurrence of 
more favourable circumstances than those which attended 
the anxious and contentious reign of King Stephen. 

But even from the mists of Papacy, surrounded by 
a fanatic people, with fanatic ideas and passions, (cul- 
tivated during a lengthened age of superstition), a monarch 
came forth with a single and definite object — viz. to erect 
a pure monarchy, possessing sufficient absolute power for 
regulating every interest of the nation, so as to secure the 
greatest degree of liberty for his people. It was by the 
influence of his distinguished authority, that Henry II. 
reduced the arrogance of Priestcraft, and elevated the 
genius of Government. 

It has been said that these were days of darkness, and it 
it might be added, of extreme profligacy and sensuality, 

d 2 



36 



THE SPIRIT OF 



mixed with superstition. How could it be otherwise ? 
Papacy dominant ! Papacy, the immediate heir of Pa- 
ganism ; retaining its essence and features, its worship of 
images and of dead men, whom it deified with prayers, 
hymns, and incense ! Papacy, the teacher of auricular 
confessions, absolution, indulgences of sins ! — miracles 
wrought by images, pictures, and the bones of the dead ! 
— -transubstantiation, or the assumed power of forming the 
real body of Jesus by the hands of man ! — the infallibility 
of the Pope, and his right to be the interpreter and dis- 
penser of the Scriptures ; declaring that he held the keys 
of heaven and of hell, and that he had authority to absolve 
from oaths, to break allegiance, to dethrone kings, and to 
torture and destroy mankind ! Papacy ! the blatant, de- 
ceitful beast, which, while it boasted that Druidical igno- 
rance and impiety were expelled from the land, introduced 
mummeries and impositions of its own, still more iniqui- 
tous, cruel, and absurd ; destroying the loveliest parts of 
God's creatures, and with vengeful blasphemy claiming a 
right to punish with tortures, even unto death, all kindreds 
and nations who presumed to commune with God without 
the intervention of the Roman priests, or who dared to 
deny the supreme and divine power of the Pope.* The 
influence of this new religion was unfit and unlikely to 
dispel moral darkness, or to elevate the supreme part of 
man's nature, especially since the ministers themselves 
were altogether superstitious, venal, and self-indulgent. 

And although, in the course of time, some most holy 
and excellent men ministered in holy things, and by their 
example and precept gave action and power to the princi- 

* Solus Romanus Pontifex jure dicitur universalis. Uli soli licet pro 
temporis necessitate novas leges condere. Papae solius pedes omnes 
principes deosculantur. Hlius solius nomen in ecclesiis recitatur : 
unicum est nomen in mundo. Eli licet Imperatores deponere. — 
Greg, Epist. 



THE VATICAN. 



37 



pies of the Gospel ; yet, alas ! there were many who af- 
forded great apology for vice and profligacy in manners, 
and most abject superstition. The Roman clergy were, 
at times, during the reign of Henry II., very obnoxious to 
the people. It is said by Rapin and others, that no less 
than 100 murders were committed by the clergy during 
the very early part of this reign, and none of the mur- 
derers had been brought to suitable punishment. Some 
had purchased absolution for incest, rape, perjury, and 
murder, long before these crimes were perpetrated ; some 
after; and defied all law, depending on their influence 
with the Vatican. But these will bear but a slight com- 
parison with the number and enormities of the murders and 
cruelties which the Vatican has perpetrated in the unseen 
and undistinguished walks of private society, through the 
instrumentality of its agents, the various priests, who like 
serpents insinuated themselves into every family of respec- 
tability. Heaven and the grave can alone tell over this 
awful list. It has been but seldom that the public, or the 
magistrates of civil power, have been allowed even to catch 
a glimpse of the acts of some of those monsters, who 
allowed nothing to stay their arm when any object arose 
which awakened their cupidity or lust.* 

History furnishes many instances of the zeal with which 
the synods of Bishops condemned the simple-hearted. 
This zeal was fatal to thirty poor Germans, and their 
pastor, F. Gerard, a man of good character and learning, 
who were apprehended at Oxford in this reign, and who 
having been found guilty of obstinate heresy, were branded 
and shorn of all covering, because they had not orthodox 
views of purgatory, saints, reliques, &c. They all pe- 
rished of hunger and cold. The name and sufferings of 

* See Appendix for quotation from that valuable journal the Times, 
Nov. 15, 1844. 



38 



THE SPIRIT OF 



this good Reformer are little known, and less remarked 
upon ; but the righteous never die, or as ^ poet has said :— 

" They never fail, who die 
In a great cause ; the block may soak their gore ; 
Their heads may sodden in the sun ; their limbs 
Be strung to city gates and castle walls ; 
But still their spirit walks abroad." — Marino Faliero. 

It will be needful to refer to some instances of the 
persecuting spirit of Popery ; but an equal charge against 
the Church of Rome is, that it has ever denied the ex- 
ercise of individual reason ; and though this could never 
wholly stay the action of those minds which this artful 
denial was intended to controul, yet it was sufficient 
to depress and impair that reason to which she forbade 
action. This was an unfaithfulness and a repudiation of 
her divinity. It was human weakness, glaring on the 
brow of the spiritual vocation, fearing that her mystic 
knowledge and superstitious influence would be exposed 
and attenuated ! it w T as man intercepting the light of Hea- 
ven from the countenances of his fellow-men ! it was man 
opposing his Maker in the course of his wide develop- 
ments and purposes ! it was pride united to meanness ! it 
was form and earth opposing Spirit and Heaven! She 
denied the liberty of human thought, and dared to urge 
that angel of light, the spirit, by force and cruelty! 
Faith was urged by fear, and made a thing of time 
and place ; whilst demonstrations of the power of man 
were exhibited — such as fire, the sword, and the inqui- 
sition — to purify heresies, (so called) ; and the Spirit of 
God was insulted. The Papacy required that the tra- 
ditions or works of the Fathers should be accepted as part 
of the Rule of Faith ; indeed, Lord Lyttleton says, that 
as early as the troubled reign of Stephen, the popish 



THE VATICAN. 



39 



priests had invented a set of principles, sup ergo verning 
the law and the king, said to be found in books at 
Oxford by Yaccarius ; and a collection called the Decre- 
tum obtained great credit. 

The cities of Languedoc were at this time remarkable 
for their commercial wealth, and their spirit of inde- 
pendence; they had now declared that the Scriptures 
were the sole Rule of Faith, (see Appendix XI.), and con- 
sequently condemned the supremacy over the conscience 
claimed by the Romish Priesthood. (See Appendix XII.) 
Such a doctrine awakened the extreme anger of the Vati- 
can, and they were stigmatized as the worst of criminals ; 
all the Reformers were delivered over to the fierce sol- 
diery of the Catholic princes, and the same privileges 
were granted to those who took arms against them, as to 
crusaders and pilgrims to the Holy Sepulchre. We shall 
not pain our readers by details of the terrible effects of 
the vengeance of the Vatican, for these religious persecu- 
tions present the most horrible picture of inhuman bar- 
barities. The Cardinal of Albans, Abbot of Clairvaux, 
had the melancholy occupation of commanding the first 
expedition against these humble and holy reformers. The 
horrors of these impious wars exceed all others recorded 
by the historian. It was thus the Church employed mur- 
derers as missionaries, and indiscriminate massacres as her 
best arguments. It was in these wars that the crafty 
Philip Augustus took an active and cruel part against the 
Albigenses, merely to avert the anger of the Pope. 

About the year 1160, one Waldo, a merchant of Lyons, 
having studied the Bible, and declared that Tran substantia- 
tion was unscriptural, became the founder of a sect im- 
mensely numerous. In Savoy they were called Waldenses ; 
Albigenses in France ; and Lollards in England. (See App. 



40 



THE SPIRIT OF 



XIII.) Rankin, in his History of France, sets out their 
doctrines, which were strictly scriptural, whilst their habits 
were temperate, and consistent with their profession. 

The Vatican pointed at them as a set of wild maniacs, 
only fit for entire extermination; and Pope Alexander 
issued the most woeful and awful decrees, calling upon 
all Christians to unite in a crusade against them, which 
was too readily complied with. 

The page of history informs us, that twenty-three thou- 
sand of these holy reformers were put to the sword in one 
day, by the orders of the Abbot of the Cistercians. A 
slight idea may be formed of the cruelty and fanaticism 
which urged on this priest in his bloody occupation, 
from the following circumstance : — The noble and devoted 
Count Raymond was defending Besiers, the capital; and 
some hesitation being felt just before the assault, as to. 
sparing those in the city who were faithful to the Roman 
See, the question was put to the Abbot, to which his 
ferocious and blasphemous answer was — " Kill all ; kill all : 
God will find out those who belong to him." This war 
cost one million of lives. 

The Vatican was ever active in detecting schismatics of 
all kinds ; holding up such schisms as proofs that injury 
arose by the spread of the Gospel, and that therefore it 
was necessary to withhold the Bible from the laity. It 
may be readily assumed and acknowledged, that many sects 
were generated from the sudden spread of the Gospel. 
Its glorious rays spread light to all ; yet some were daz- 
zled by the mass of treasures which it disclosed, as the 
inheritance of the true followers of Christ; and some 
probably felt as persons rising from a long trance of 
darkness, and for awhile they but partially understood 
the mission of the Holy Book. Hence sects arose, pro- 



THE VATICAN. 



41 



fessing tenets bearing but a partial similitude to the truth 
of the word ; and very few revivals of religion have ever 
occurred, without furnishing painful scenes of extrava- 
gance and fanaticism. Yet God is the same — the letter of 
God remains the same ; a test and reference which mostly 
moderates the extravagant, and corrects the disorder of 
fanaticism; and yet amongst the wild and schismatic 
were generally some of the best and most heavenly-minded 
persons, whose virtues much extenuated the violence and 
excitement of their sect. 

It appears that the greatest offence which these Re- 
formers gave to the Romish Church was their firm denial 
of Transubstantiation. It is not the intention of these 
pages to discuss at any length the various doctrines of 
Romanism ; yet it may be remarked, that no article of 
the faith was better calculated to exalt the power of the 
priesthood : its assumption of ability to form the body and 
blood of the Saviour, and the blind concession of the multi- 
tude to this doctrine, endowed the priesthood with the ad- 
ditional character of magicians ; the nature of this doc- 
trine was incomprehensible, and therefore incontrovertible ; 
and this circumstance, instead of exciting doubt or 
jealousy, only increased the ready veneration of all orders of 
society (see Appendix XIY.) When princes and potentates 
have been about to confide in their influence over their 
people, they have been warned of the superiority which 
mantled the vocation of the most humble priest in his 
daily practice of creating parts of the real body and 
blood of Christ. There have been some disputes as to 
who was the propounder of this perverted doctrine : com- 
mon sense has often rejected it, and some learned and 
devout Catholics have struggled to prove it unscriptural 
(such as Berengarius) ; but the Doctrine of the Infalli- 



42 



THE SPIKIT OF 



bility of the Church (see Appendix, XV.) has super- 
governed and stifled all reason. 

The public Council of Trent declared " all accursed who 
refused to receive the ecclesiastical traditions with like piety 
and reverence as the holy Scriptures ;" (see Appendix, 
XVI.) where the famous Creed of Pope Pius IV. is set out as 
drawn by the order of the Council of Trent, as a condensed 
formulary of the doctrines of the Church of Rome.) 
This Creed adds ecclesiastical traditions to the Bible. 
It declares the Scriptures may only be interpreted as the 
Church propounds, although the Church has never pro- 
pounded any distinct interpretation. It speaks of " the 
unanimous sense of the Fathers," which are full of incon- 
sistencies and contradictions ; it multiplies the sacra- 
ments ; it changes the scriptural doctrine of Justification ; 
and declares there is no salvation, except to those who hold 
the sentiments of the Church of Rome. 

In these days some have disturbed the Reformed Church 
with declarations concerning the imperativeness and im- 
portance of traditions, and compliance with the rubric 
of the Church. We may not leave this subject without 
[saying, that a grave sorrow passes over the mind of every 
sound Protestant who sees the flood of the plain Gospel 
light about to be mixed up with the deceitful meteor 
gleams transmitted by the ancient Fathers. At present the 
Gospel is accessible, and the reading of it made easy ; and 
we have been taught that its knowledge is a shining light, 
which will show us all, poor and rich, the way to heaven. 
But if the knowledge of works of the Fathers is considered 
saving and necessary, then what is the extent of responsi- 
bility of the prophets and advocates of this new divinity ! 
What has become of the saints who died in the faith of 
the simple G ospel ? And if such knowledge is not con- 



THE VATICAN. 



43 



sidered saving, wherefore the need of this resurrection of 
such writings ? The works of the Fathers were set up by 
Papists long before the nineteenth century, for the pur- 
pose of darkening the pure light of the Bible. * 

It is no new invention ; for our Saviour says, " How- 
beit, in vain they do worship me, teaching for doctrines 
the commandments of men ; for, laying aside the command- 
ment of God, ye hold the tradition of men, as the washing 
of pots and cups ; and many other such like things ye do." 

Men may be eccentric in some of the sciences, and 
antiquarian in some of the arts ; but the religion of the 
Bible is too sacred and important a subject for amateurs 
and pedants to exercise their empirical powers upon. 
There have been some zealots and enthusiasts who have 
surrendered their worldly substance, and even tendered 
their bodies to be burned or tortured (as the Bonzes) ; 
and whilst men have yielded them pity, they have thought 
them sincere on account of their personal sacrifices. 
The Church was much excited when John Wesley 
avowed his views; but who can doubt that sincerity and 
holy love provoked all his conduct, and that signal honour 
and veneration mark his memory ! The changes he 
sought were spiritual, and a closer communion be- 
tween the priesthood and the people. But the washers 
of pots and cups of the nineteenth century have as yet 
done no good, but much evil, and incurred contempt of all 
who love peace. However, this is an important matter, 
and we leave it to justify itself by time ; trusting that the 
Bishops of the various Dioceses, the Archbishops, but, 
above all, the Sovereign of these realms, will watch with 
a jealous eye all these changes, and firmly put down that 

* At the beginning oi Henry's reign, the Roman priests again strug- 
gled to sustain the Decretum, for which they claimed an authority 
above the Bible. — Lyttleton. 



44 



THE SPIRIT OF 



which is wrong. We cannot leave this subject without re- 
minding those who love new forms, that the Eastern and 
Romish Churches were long divided as to the proper mode 
of shaving the heads of the priests. Such tilings must 
weaken the high authority of any clergy. 

The charitable philosopher and religionist will be con- 
tent to watch these portending changes, and wait in 
dumb reflection their development. It is certain that 
changes are daily expressing themselves; and the most 
charitable hope is, that although some are formal only, 
yet that there are some which may be the external and 
evidential features of spiritual change : and who shall 
dare to stop such mystic developments ? The way-faring 
man, though a fool, may worship God, and be met by the 
Holy Companion left to man when Jesus ascended up on 
high. But it is perhaps an anxious inquiry made by 
some learned divines, How much and what form is to be 
associated in religious exercises ? Yet they must bear in 
mind (it is well for mortals that it is so !) that He to whom 
our services are addressed replied even to the publican, — 
accepted the works of Joseph of Arimathea — and rejected 
not the costly ointment of Mary. Yes ! by God will be 
heard the bold anthems and hosannas of the Church, as well 
as the inward quivering of a sigh. If the mind of man is 
so much more mysterious than the body, how exceedingly 
sublime and mystical are the attributes of the Deity, to 
whom prayer and praise are addressed. And as God's 
spirit condescends at times to walk with the spirit of every 
man, how can any man, or any set of men, presume to tell 
his fellow-spirit that forms are fit subjects of disputation 
before God — and that even by those who profess to worship 
him in spirit and in truth ! Let them take heed, for they 
are very near Satan's elements. Forms and ceremonies are 



THE VATICAN. 



45 



very fascinating, and sometimes very delusive. The 
Church may decline through internal diseases. Nothing 
else can destroy the Church but her own harlotry with 
the world. No arm can successfully assail a spiritual 
Church ; but a brick-and-mortar church is of the earth, 
and readily destroyed. Let them often inquire whether it 
is the spirit of love that induces this anxiety for change ; 
and whether it is not possible that small changes may 
produce great troubles in a Church long venerated for its 
consistency and union. These novelties may appear small 
or large to those who are inventing them ; but what 
injury may arise to the Church, by creating mistrust and 
contempt in the world, and strengthening the enemies of 
the Reformed Church ! God is a spirit ; and it requires 
some stretch of credulity to believe, that his sublime 
nature is more pleased with some of the forms, or rather 
actions in worship, lately attempted to be introduced by 
persons not very distinguished for any thing else but this 
emulation to change. If they desire to increase the 
pomp of the Church, let them remember that the devil is 
a formalist, and that image- worship in the modern Romish 
Church is said by some to have had a very simple and 
rather innocent origin. The Deity says, " Son, give me 
thy heart ; " he does not say e in such a manner,' or, e with 
such a form.' Jahn, in his valuable work on the Hebrew 
commonwealth, says — " At first probably a representation 
of Jehovah was set up ; but this was soon transformed 
into an idol, or was invoked as an idol by others — of 
which there is a very remarkable example in the time 
soon after Joshua. (Judges xvii., xviii.) Idolatrous 
images were afterwards set up with the image ; and the 
Hebrews imagined that they should be the more pros- 
perous, if they worshipped the ancient gods of the land 



46 



THE SPIRIT OF 



from time to time. Idolatry was at last openly professed ; 
and this national treachery to the King Jehovah always 
brought with it national misfortunes." The idolatry of 
the Romish Church is absolute, but much denied 
by the Papists, who are true descendants of Paganism, 
and invoke the dead saints to intercede with the 
Deity. 

The new formalists may be compared to certain young 
officers, who applied to the military authority for more 
ornaments to be placed on their new appointment or dress ; 
but when commanded to meet the enemy, they deserted 
their ranks, and mutinied against their chiefs. Ye Anti- 
quarian Rubricians ! it may be that ye have a pure and 
sincere respect for the Rubric, which may not be (in 
form) strictly followed by the Reformed Church ; but bear 
in mind ye are servants and ministers of the Holy One, 
who regards the spirit of the giver. Antiquarian Rubri- 
cians, take heed ; be busy in works of love and charity, 
and ye will forget these new attitudes, forms, and cere- 
monies. What will the Lord of the vineyard say, if he 
comes when you are busied in contesting unimportant 
forms, and have left his vineyard to be choked by thorns 
and weeds ! Suppose the spirit Death should divide you 
from your congregation, whilst teaching them new forms 
and ceremonies, — can ye who are so anxious for new 
forms say to those with whom ye are contesting — namely, 
your congregations, — " Oh ! God is my record, how 
greatly I yearn after you in the bowels of Jesus ? " Take 
care, or your refinements may awaken first pity, then 
contempt ; and soon some enemy, compounded of the 
world, the flesh, and the devil, may cast you down, and 
produce scandal and insult upon the holy things you were 
entrusted with. 



THE VATICAN. 



47 



The nature of the Protestant religion stands upon the 
authority of the Scriptures ; and it seems more than ever 
important that they should be protected and handed down 
from generation to generation, by some safeguard of 
at least equal repute and security with that which secures 
the laws of commerce and municipal rights. And at first 
sight it does appear that it would be difficult to select for 
this purpose any integral portion of the governing power, 
and that the protection naturally and necessarily devolves 
upon the chief government ; for, it is obvious, religion is 
a powerful and faithful principle of association. A most 
important duty of all governments is that of promulgating 
truth to all, with one end, and by one and the same 
means ; and by its authority to realize funds for the pre- 
servation of the Scriptures in their integrity, as well as 
the promulgation of the truths of these Scriptures — com- 
monly known as the spread of the Gospel. And we would 
fearlessly denominate that government unreasonable and 
tyrannical, which demanded honesty, virtue, and order 
from its subjects, and yet failed to secure for those sub- 
jects the instruction and holy wisdom which the ritual 
approved of by the government contains. When religious 
instruction is not provided by a government, it ceases to 
be a civilized government, and is wanting in benevolence 
and parental nature ; and it is much to be suspected, that 
its object is to deprave and degrade the spirit of the 
people, so as to mould them to its own selfish purposes. 
Hence it was that the tyrant Diocletian, a.d. 303, ordered 
the Scriptures to be destroyed, lest they should awaken 
the Romans to a sense of their personal dignity. 

The Vatican caused a tradition of the Fathers to 
supersede the authority of God's word ; because it de- 
sired to tyrannize over man, — which tyranny would be 



48 



THE SPIRIT OF 



exposed by the simple word of God. When the Popes 
discovered that they could hold the sceptre without the 
writings of apostle or prophet, they hurled them into the 
deepest darkness, until they seemed to perish from the 
memory of man. When the Inquisition was executing 
its direst cruelties on the human family, the edict of the 
Council of Toulouse was published, which forbade the 
laity to read the Bible. The most remarkable era of 
Papal activity and craft was, when a bull was issued 
confirming the terrible law of Philip II., which made 
it death to sell, buy, keep, or read the Bible. In 
every country where the Papacy obtained influence, it 
invariably succeeded in extinguishing the use of the 
Bible. The infidel and profane Louis XIV. openly 
exulted that his persecutions had cleared his nation of 
every man who read the Bible. In the bloody scenes of 
1793, in which Robespierre enacted chief fiend, the holy 
Bible was fastened to the tails of asses, and dragged 
through the streets. 

In all the travail of the Scriptures, perhaps this was one 
of the greatest indignities it suffered, and was followed by 
a series of the most severe national judgments. 

In this day, it has ceased to be a debatable question, 
whether religious information should be spread amongst 
the people of the land ; for the territorial aggrandizement 
of Popery has been much diminished, and the divine flame 
enlightens many lands. Every clime has now thousands of 
copies of the Bible in its possession ; and now God has for- 
bidden every human power to take them away. The 
armies of heathen barbarians, led on by a Julian or com- 
manded by a Trajan, can never again drive the Christian 
before them. The peaceful decrees of a Theodosius, or the 
Edict of Nantes, are no longer needful to preserve the 



THE VATICAN. 



49 



Scriptures, or to protect the Christian. " The Morning 
Star," which shed its earliest rays over Ephesus, Smyrna, 
Pergamos, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, and Laodicea, 
has now cast its meridian splendour over the chief cities of 
the world. In vain would the Vatican send forth its mur- 
derous decrees. In vain might the fiend of the Inquisition 
roll his polluting glance over Christendom : the arm of 
these persecutors is now shortened by the vigilant anger 
of God. It matters not that an emperor, learned and 
mighty as Justinian, should declare the Pope to be the 
Head of all Churches ; for the innocent tongues of children 
would testify to his blasphemy. 

Hark ! listen to the music of the lisping voices which 
come o'er the western wave — 'tis from Afric's tawny chil- 
dren — it echoes through the ice-bound mountains of Green- 
land, and is chaunted upon the choral strand of India — it 
bounds from pole to pole ! 

All the great enemies of the Bible, from the days 
of the Roman tyrant Diocletian to those of Napoleon, 
have realized the wages of scoffers and infidels. Those 
nations where the Bible was desecrated and ejected, 
have had the curse of one of the Churches of Asia : they 
have been oast out as an infectious thing, and degraded 
before the eyes of all Christendom. Where is Ephesus, the 
proud queen of cities, that erst studded the verdant banks 
of the rapid Cayster ? Where is the temple of Diana, with 
those who there rejected the eloquence of St. Paul ? Why 
was the cruel Turk allowed to devastate the beautiful city 
of Smyrna? Where are the magnificence and vast library 
of the once celebrated Pergamos ? The sighs of that holy 
martyr Antipas still echo in the ears of the Christian, and 
remind us that the inhabitants of this once beautiful city 
are cast down with the enemies of the Lord Jesus Christ. 

E 



50 



THE SPIRIT OE 



Where is the famous Thyatira, mentioned by St. Paul as 
the scene of the labours of the fair Lydia ? What has be- 
come of the ancient city of the Lydian Kings ? Where is 
proud Sardis, once adding fame to those men of war and 
might, Alexander, Cyrus, and Croesus ? She fell into the 
jaws of false religion. She has heard the Prophet say, 
" Thou livest,but art dead ;" and she now sits in darkness; 
and (Tacitus says) her comeliness has been broken by the 
awful earthquakes which ha ye turned valley into moun- 
tain : a few mud huts contain all the population of Sardis. 
Those plains, once covered by thousands and hundreds of 
thousands of human beings, are now a solitary desert. The 
traveller pauses awhile, revolving the time past in his awe- 
stricken mind, just to view once more the beautiful plain 
which bounds the grandeur of the Grygsean Lake. Where 
is Philadelphia, now Allah- Shehr ? What now remains of 
her beautiful church of St. John ? A few crumbling ruins 
remind us of those holy words : "I will make them of the 
synagogue of Satan." Where is the once happy and opu- 
lent city of Laodicea ? It filled up its measure of iniquity ; 
and He who said, " I know thy works, that thou art neither 
cold nor hot," has made it a desolate waste, where the 
greedy jackal and the hungry wolf have roamed for ages. 
Greece, once the nurse of the arts and sciences, the fruitful 
mother of philosophers, lawgivers, and heroes, suffered a 
long chastisement under the iron yoke of ignorance and 
barbarism ! Carthage, once the mighty sovereign of the 
ocean, and the centre of universal commerce, now puzzles 
the inquiring traveller in his search after even a vestige of 
her ruins ! And Rome, the mistress of the universe, which 
once appeared to contain whatever was esteemed great or 
brilliant in human nature, is now sunk into comparative 
meanness, effeminacy, and infamy ! The rejection of Chris- 



THE VATICAN. 



51 



tianity left these splendid republics unprotected, when 
those violent factions arose which destroyed their natural 
strength. t 

Where is the proud Assyrian, who basked by the banks 
of the Tigris — the soothsaying Chaldean, who watched the 
vast waters of the Euphrates — the gorgeous Persian, whose 
dominion extended from the Indus to the tideless Medi- 
terranean? Where are the kingdoms of Damascus and 
Idumea — of Jerusalem and Samaria, and the wild and war- 
like Philistine ? Where are the dense ramparts of Nineveh 
— the beautiful hanging gardens of Babylon — the gay 
palaces of Persepolis, and the massive temples of Balbec 
and Jerusalem ? Ye winds of heaven, say, where are the 
busy fleets of Tyre, that conveyed the spices and precious 
stones of Ceylon — the shawls of Cassimere — the diamonds 
of Golconda — the amber of the Maldives — the musk of 
Thibet — the aloes of Cochin — the peacocks of India, and 
the myrrh and gold-dust of Africa ? Alas ! where are 
these magnificent ships and these beautiful cities with 
their vast possessions ? Whisper, ye winds ; let north and 
south and east and west declare, where are they now? 
Alas ! ye have joined with time and the other servants of 
avenging Heaven, and ye have thrown down the mystic 
temples, demolished the palaces, and stripped them of all 
their false elements and ornaments, and destroyed the 
strongholds of idolatry! The Phoenician has been hurried 
away ! The Chaldean no longer bows before a vile reptile, 
and the proud Persian no longer worships fire. 

Such is the picture of facts upon which all men may 
look. Yet many statesmen and heroes deny practically that 
Christianity, the evergreen of the vintage of the earth, is 
the only safe and imperturbable basis for national existence. 

e 2 



52 



THE SPIEIT OF 



It is here we may mark the depravity of man's nature, — 
a deformity which the greatest station cannot hide. The 
presumption of individual man oft induces him to believe, 
that his own existence contains every incident necessary 
to develope the principles by which men and nations are 
governed by their Creator; and because he lives in a 
period of mercy, that no judgments of Heaven ever fall 
upon the earth ; and that because that Government which 
makes direct concessions to evil men and evil principles 
is not abruptly dissolved by the immediate interposition 
of Heaven, that therefore the eye of Heaven is closed. 
Yet the historian can at a glance discover many nations, 
as well as the mightiest and most valiant of men, still 
lying as monuments of the eternal vigilance and retribu- 
tive justice of Heaven. 

Whilst we write these lines respecting Paganism and 
Popery, we are endeavouring to describe one of the great 
enemies of man; yet we believe there are many very 
excellent persons who would almost regard us as preju- 
diced and invidious. They might probably direct us to 
the passive and unassuming aspect of the Vatican, and 
refer us to the Roman Catholic of the present day, as 
evidential of the very peaceable and harmless nature of 
this section of Christians. Our first and general answer 
would be, that Popery in power was a cruel persecutor ; 
but in the days of its humiliation, it put away its blood- 
stained garments, and arrayed itself in sheep's clothing. 
It has only secreted its instruments of torture — its racks 
and chains — with all the hellish machinery of the Inqui- 
sition. Let not kings or subjects trifle with the Romish 
Church, as with a principle that has lost its faculties and 
passions ! They who pamper and dandle with this mon- 
ster, do not understand its nature or attitude. It is true, 



THE VATICAN. 



53 



it has lost much of its domination over some nations and 
sovereigns; yet it still lives, its breath still issues from 
its corrupt being;* and though its energy appears relaxed, 
yet it still withers and poisons many generous hearts, 
desolates many happy homes, and enacts many tragedies 
which never reach the public ear. It is the enemy of 
man ; and now writhes in secret, yearning for a day 
when it may renew its hellish practices and fiend-like 
cruelties ! 

I am aware that there are some who think it wise to be 
silent on some of the most important differences in so- 
ciety, and have included the present subject amongst those 
differences; but to them I would read the law of Solon, which 
declared every man infamous, who, in any sedition or civil 
difference, should continue silent and neuter, refusing to 
side with either party. (See Phit. in Vit. Solon). Aulus 
Gellius gives a stronger character of this law; for he says, 
the penalty was no less than the banishment of the delin- 
quent, and confiscation of all his effects. (See A. Gellii 
Noct. Attic. Lib. 10, Epis. 1.) What effect the law had 
among the Athenians, we cannot say ; however, it is 
plainly founded upon that relation which every member 
bears to the body politic, and that interest which every 
individual is supposed to have in the good of the whole 
community. It is still, though not in express terms, 
virtually recognised in every free country. 

The boldest form to put the charge against Roman Ca- 
tholicism is this — First, that Paganism was the most blas- 
phemous and disgusting form in which religion was ever 
presented to man. (See Appendix, XVII.) 

* The Present Pontiff, Gregory XVI., issued a bull, dated 7th May, 
1844, against Bible Societies. 



54 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Secondly, That Roman Catholicism is the real repre- 
sentative of Paganism,— its main feature being idolatry, 
and cruelty towards all who refuse to worship the idols it 
from time to time sets up. 

It matters not to man, whether he is persecuted and 
murdered by the worshipper of Diana or the worshipper of 
the Virgin. It could make little difference to a Christian, 
whether he were torn to pieces by wild beasts in an am- 
phitheatre, for the gratification of some ferocious Roman 
Emperor, such as Domitian, or burnt at an auto dafe, to 
celebrate the arrival of a Prince of Parma at the City of 
Valladolid. 

It matters not to the follower of Christ, whether it is 
the idolatrous Hierarchy of ancient Rome, or the impious 
Pontificate of modern Rome, which demands his life as 
the penalty, on his refusal to bow before an image, and 
ask its intercession with the Deity. The Roman Emperors 
demanded to be deified. The Papal Chiefs declared that 
they possessed all the attribute's of God himself — viz. remis- 
sion of sins, infallibility, (see Appendix XVIII.), the gift of 
miracles, the grant of separate glories in heaven ; and were 
worshipped as the representatives and equals of the King 
of kings. Through all things the Papal Power forced 
itself, dominating over every spiritual and temporal inter- 
est. Had it imbibed any portion of the benevolent spirit 
of Him who t( went about doing good," its elevation and 
authority were sufficient for realizing the greatest benefit 
to those nations where it predominated ; it might have 
formed schools of learning and hospitals of charity, that 
would have yielded a stream of vigour and comfort 
through thousands of channels ; it was doubtless en- 
trusted with an important mission to man: but it cast 



THE VATICAN. 



55 



aside the Divine letter, and regulated itself by the dic- 
tates of its own passions, the habits of the world, and the 
delusions of the enemy of mankind ; it became the vicar 
of the Prince of Darkness, generating the most awful 
woes on every society in which it moved. Its spirit is 
still the same ; and its conduct would be the same, but 
that He who never slumbers nor sleeps holds this monster 
in chains. Sometimes the monster moves, and then the 
clanking of his chains gives warning to Christendom to 
rally their mighty armies, and resist the reign of tyranny. 
Let the present Reformed Church take heed to its ways, 
and abide by the integrity of those early reformers, Lu- 
ther and others ; let it reject the temptations of kings, 
and the flexible expediencies of some statesmen, and ever 
refuse to become part of the blind multitude ; let it look 
at the simple picture of modern Paganism, or Roman Ca- 
tholicism, and observe the steps of its degradation, begin- 
ing at the early part of the thirteenth century, down to 
the 25th of March, 1797, when the leader of democracy, 
viz. Napoleon, caused the Papal Chief and all his cardi- 
nals, except three, to be placed in the hands of soldiery, 
and hurried off to an ignominious prison, where the Pope 
himself died. It would far exceed the limits of this 
humble sketch, to detail the interesting principles which a 
chain of historical facts elucidates. It is sufficient to say, 
there is one established principle — viz. that a nation which 
denies the government of God will be as the memory of 
the wicked man — forgotten or despised. The nation and 
its idols will be trampled under foot, and boundless per- 
plexities will drive it on to self-destruction. Then fiends 
will rejoice, and the elements themselves unite their 
powers, as in the destruction of the Spanish Armada in 



56 



THE SPIRIT OF 



1588.* And it is worthy of remark that this Armada was 
the hope of Rome, sent forth to enslave our happy coun- 
try, and defy the living God ; but He who led captivity 
captive raised his mighty arm, and sent out his servants, 
the North, the South, the East, and the West, to destroy 
the enemies of England. What must have been the con- 
sternation of that host of idolaters and infidels ! They, 
like the Egyptians, called upon their gods, and hung 
upon the mantles of their priests ; but their shrieks for 
help were answered by the mighty billows, which closed 
upon them for ever; and then the destroying angel, flying 
over their watery graves, cried, with a woeful shout, 
" Ye are the enemies of the Lord Jesus Christ, and have 
earned the reward of the unfaithful steward."' 

To the Christian Church many sacred things were en- 
trusted ; and, at first, its natural object was power suffi- 
cient to carry into full execution those principles, which 
its deliberative habits and nature prescribed. If it had 
stopped here, there would have been a consistency united 
to its admirable capacities, and its divinity would have 
been eminent before all men ; and its glory would have 
glittered through the attire which hung in graceful folds 
around its god-like form, whilst ministering on earth. But, 
alas ! its innocent and simple conn dings were soon hidden 
and loaded by earthly and sensual habiliments; and then 
its object was earthly dominion, to which it soon disco- 
vered that riches form the most direct road. And to obtain 
riches, it bartered with the Evil One ; and selling love and 
charity in exchange for earthly ambition, human pride, 

* A tribunal having the authority and capacities of the Inquisition 
of Spain, was established even in the fleet of " invincible Armada." — 
Chandler s Hist, of Persecutions, and Simboralis Hist, of the Inquisi- 
tion. 



THE VATICAN. 



57 



and satanic cruelty, it laid down the white robe of salva- 
tion, and, enveloping itself in a dense cloud, it took up 
the sword and firebrand of destruction. Truth would have 
furnished every good thing in its own time ; but Truth 
was not trusted alone ; for there were subordinate para- 
phernalia created by man, to attend about it, altogether 
foreign to its simple principles. Hence the continual mis- 
carriages of mortal schemes. The enemies of religion and 
order, often, sneering, remind us that the churches of the 
earth covet the riches of the earth ; and, to obtain them, 
many cruelties have been perpetrated, and much of inte- 
grity and holy authority bartered. Of the cruelties we 
have referred to, some indeed stain the pages of history, 
but the greater part are known only to God. Alas ! Bea- 
trice Cenci would have been respited, sine die, but that 
the Church who judged her required the confiscation of 
her estates, to increase her store of golden bribes. The 
riches which belonged to many of the victims of the auto 
dafe, were the main cause of their being thus inhumanly 
murdered.* 

We have noticed some of the characteristics of 
the Spirit of the Vatican, and we have shewn that 
the refinement and attainments of the Church might 
furnish one of the reasons for its worldly assumptions. We 
will now venture to notice a peculiarity in the Catholic 
Church, which does not so precisely arise from the essential 
doctrines of the faith, as from the administration and 
ecclesiastical government ; and yet it is a marked peculi- 
arity which has quickened many enemies, and created very 
great obstacles to this once vast and interesting hierarchy. 
If we attempt to analyze this peculiarity, the result is that 
we then concur with the most violent of its opponents, who 
* Llorente — Hist. Inquis. 



58 



THE SPIRIT OF 



contend, that if truth were its only basis, then this pecu- 
liarity would not and could not exist. Although, as I have 
before said, some of its doctrines may have had to meet 
the rebuff and criticism of many good and wise men, be- 
fore whose energies they may at last (under God's provi- 
dence) bow ; yet it is not the doctrine either of Auricular 
Confession — Absolution by the Priest — Indulgences — 
Purgatory — Worship of Images — Invocation and Inter- 
cession — Deification of Mortals — Transubstantiation — 
Rule of Faith — Supremacy of Pope — Infallibility — Justi- 
fication, &c. &c. (see Appendix XIX.), which is now pointed 
at (for these might have been, during some part of time, inno- 
cent subjects of dispute in the schools of the churches of 
the earth) ; but the outward discipline of the people by the 
Priesthood and the Papal Power. These, (as Rapin ob- 
serves) may be considered the spring of all the remark- 
able events which happened in the Church of England for 
several centuries, particularly in the early and middle ages. 
One of those principles was, that Christ committed the in- 
struction of the faithful to the care of the Church. The 
words of Pope Innocent III. are : " So hath Christ esta- 
blished the kingdom and the priesthood in the Church, 
that the kingdom is sacerdotal and the priesthood is kingly ; 
he hath set one man over the world, 1 him alone he hath 
appointed his vicar upon earth ; 2 and as Christ is obeyed 
in heaven, in earth, and under the earth, so shall obedience 
and service be paid to his vicar by all, that they may be 
one fold and one shepherd ;"* — whence were drawn these 
two peculiar inferences — viz. that the faithful (meaning the 
people) must be wholly guided by the priesthood ; and that 
the priesthood were the sole arbiters and judges of all the 

* 1 Unum praeficiens universis. 

2 Quem suum in terris vicarium ordinavit. 



THE VATICAN, 



59 



difficulties in faith and church government — the priest- 
hood being the Church. This was a false interpretation, 
presenting to the people a most sweeping doctrine — viz. 
that the priesthood was the Church. Again, to render 
this reasonable as an active principle, it was needful to 
assume infallibility in the priesthood; and this gaining 
rapid ground, and being soon an admitted doctrine, the 
priesthood hesitated not to punish the people in such man- 
ner as they thought most likely to render them worthy of 
the favour of the Church. And as the faithful were to be 
branches of the True Vine, and spotless, the priesthood did 
not scruple to cut off any branches from the Church by 
excommunication. This conduct, with other assumptions, 
created contests and resistance amongst the people ; and 
therefore it became necessary, for the preservation of the 
authority of the Church, that it should have the sufferance 
and aid of some civil power competent to execute its cor- 
rections on the unworthy. Such a power was only to be 
obtained and secured by bribes and pecuniary grants ; and 
it being requisite that the Church or priesthood should be 
well enabled to supply such pecuniary means, the Church 
charged many fines and mulcts on those who were able to 
pay, — and that in addition to excommunication. And as 
the strength of the Church increased, so their daring and 
extortionate spirit increased ; until at last the love of money 
became as much a passion in the heart of the Church, as 
in that of any human being. So long as the Church was 
content to seek this pelf from the mere subjects of the 
realm, and evinced a willingness to divide such pelf with 
the civil power, the sovereigns of the world (in too many 
instances) consented to and aided such extortion. But 
the strength of the Church rapidly increasing, caused it to 
attack the coffers of the most wealthy, and at last to sub- 



60 



THE SPIRIT OF 



ject the treasury of kings and the common weal of nations 
to their scrutinizing and extravagant demands. It was on 
such occasions that kings and princes resisted these de- 
mands ; whereupon the unlimited arm of the Vatican was 
stretched out, and the great council of the chief priest- 
hood — viz. the Pope and the Cardinals — was called to- 
gether for the purpose of considering the sins and short- 
comings of such a disobedient child. The result was, that 
the Papal eye cast its cruel, withering gaze o'er all the fair 
kingdoms of the earth, to see if there was any other prince 
or king powerful, envious, or wicked enough to take up 
the cause of the Church, and assail this disobedient son, 
and reduce him and his subjects to the most humble sub- 
mission, and acquiescence in the papal demands., 

Then War — relentless War — stalked forth, deluging the 
peaceful meads with blood, and razing the proudest cities 
to the ground. Then the shrieks of the dying and 
wounded filled the air, and nature groaned, whilst the 
Vatican regarded all as the triumph of the Cross 
of Christ. There were occasions when the disobedient 
son was not only rebellious, but more powerful than all 
or any of the powers of Christendom ; and it was then that 
the dark councils of the Pope and his satellites were re- 
quired to exercise the highest faculty of intrigue, for 
the gradual destruction of its great enemy : and though 
many years might be consumed, whilst this great object 
was heaving on the breast of time ; and though the infallible 
Vatican might, in this revolution of time, more than thrice 
change its Chief; and though the bench of cardinals 
might all one by one sink in mortal decay, and all the 
identity of enmity appear to have faded ; yet, there was 
a vigour and eternality in this ecclesiastical foe, which 
heeded not time ; it purred and pawed, as a spirit in 



THE VATICAN. 



61 



the vacuum of delay, yet ready at the proper moment to 
pounce upon its victim, and rend from it every feature of 
pride and independence. 

It was by such unworthy strifes that the Church, or 
rather the priesthood, was gradually exposing its mortal 
and human parts to the contempt and anger of men. 
Then came doubt, and that bold criticism, which have 
eventually found an arena for extraordinary feats in the 
cause of truth ; and now, having laid bare the rents in the 
papal garment, which time and the tongue of martyrs have 
created, there remains in this happy land but the scroll of 
its bygone authority, wafted to and fro before the scorn 
of the truly faithful. 

The life and actions of Henry II. would fill many vo- 
lumes ; but it may not be deemed irrelevant to our subject, 
if we make some observations concerning the last earthly 
days of this great spirit, whose energies dispelled some 
of those gloomy clouds which intercepted the light of the 
great Reformation. 

The reign of Henry II. was remarkable for the number 
and variety of great men who surrounded this energetic prince, 
having their respective objects, and requiring considerable 
foresight in the monarch to prevent their powers uniting to 
the injury of the Crown, or severing as rivals or antagonists, 
and by that means weakening the supreme weight and power 
of the Government. Besides the rebellious Archbishop 
A'Becket, and the Bishop of Winchester, there were others 
whose ambition and talents revolved about the path of roy- 
alty. There was Roger of York, whose character is given 
by John of Salisbury as loaded with atrocious crimes, yet 
surmounted with sufficient political guise to keep an emi- 
nent position for many years. Next may be mentioned 
Strongbow, Earl of Pembroke ; William Longsword, Earl 



62 



THE SPIEIT OF 



of Salisbury ; Geoffrey, Archbishop of York ; Hugh Lacy, 
and Ralph de Glanville. In addition to these were the young 
princes, and above all the Pope, who was watching with 
subtle fear every movement Henry made. There were 
also the various monarchs of Europe, who had more or less 
become jealous and mortified whilst observing the splendid 
career of Henry of England. 

In tracing, however slightly, this energetic being Henry 
II. from the exulting age of eighteen, and through the 
various vicissitudes and deep anxieties which ever attended 
his path, we shall observe that most of such trials and 
struggles seemed rather to develope the powers and re- 
sources of his mind, than to crush or overwhelm him : 
some were light as playful bubbles, bursting on the face 
of the current ; some, as billows, soon joined the general 
stream. But there was one as a wild tide, producing 
angry eddies and dinning whirlpools, which have ever and 
anon threatened to dash the noble swimmer to the depths 
of ruin. Or, if we may presume to alter the simile, 
Henry II. and his Primate were as two mighty tides, 
seen by the timid traveller in the trackless seas, contending 
with each other, so that their chief powers were spent in 
breaking each other's form and comeliness. It is difficult 
to conceive what would have been the result of Henry's 
reign, if A'Becket had never been entrusted with the See 
of Canterbury; but it is very probable that some most 
useful and important reforms were prevented by this cir- 
cumstance. There was, however, a termination to this discus- 
sion, in the violent death of A'Becket; and then the affairs 
of Henry bore such a pacific character, that he thought 
he should pass the residue of his days in peace, amidst 
grandeur and glory. But Henry's troubles did not end 
with the death of this haughty Primate ; indeed it could 



THE VATICAN. 



63 



not be hoped that this King should be excepted from the 
ordinary fate of all the civil potentates who refused to 
become abject vassals of the Vatican. Henry II. was an 
indulgent parent, and, like William the Conqueror, he 
lived long enough to bear many severe blows dealt by 
the arms of his own children, who were more or less ex- 
cited to disobedience by the papal influence. And al- 
though this exceeding tribulation caused heavy grief to 
his heart, yet it awakened afresh all that determined and 
energetic spirit which had so often been his guardian and 
leader. In addition to the ordinary calamities which 
mark the steps of war, there are other poignant and pecu- 
liar horrors that attend all civil wars. But even these 
were much increased in the wars in which Henry was now 
required to contend ; for they were wars in which the blood 
of his own children might be spilt — wars in which his own 
blood was sought by those children he had so much loved. 

In these wars, Henry was supported by the same un- 
daunted powers for which he was so renowned ; and 
although a variety of unusual and painful thoughts occu- 
pied his breast, yet he felt that the same principles were 
at stake in this war as in all others, and that some one 
was seeking to tear from him power, majesty, and right. 
Therefore his brow wore again the deep furrows of a 
warrior's intents ; and he fought with a desperation and 
headlong potency which paused not to distinguish the un- 
natural nature of the rebellion from the frequent internal 
wars he had so often quelled. But now the children of 
his loins and the wife of his youth were bent on his de- 
struction ; and it is to be suspected that their treason was 
somewhat provoked by the conduct of the King. It is, 
however, stated by Brompton, that this rebellion was con- 
cocted during his absence in Normandy (about the year 



64 



THE SPIEIT OF 



1170) and that the part Eleonora took was through fear 
of Henry's anger, when he should return to England and 
discover that the life of the Fair Rosamond had been 
taken under her influence and directions. The death of 
Rosamond was regarded as an incident of slight import- 
ance by the general courtiers ; but it was far otherwise 
with Eleonora, for she had nestled by his tumultuous 
breast, and had listened to the divinations within ; and 
she knew, as from secret revelation, that there had 
been a sale and bartering of many of the sympathies and 
much of the being which executed its parts within that 
breast. Yes, they had oft been exposed at the markets 
of blood and policy — had been weighed in the scales 
held by the Papal palm — and their price had been given 
by all the hucksters who bid at the shambles of ambition. 
But she knew (for she had still " grace in her steps ") 
there were rays still burning in the arcana of great 
Henry's soul, which overshadowed, as with glory, that 
unseen altar before which all that was seen by man, both 
glorious and great, bowed in worldly obeisance. She 
knew that to touch the sacred things which ministered 
their essence there, was to wound the spirit that was ever 
panting for their conservation, and lived upon their mystic 
perfume. Ah ! ah ! she knew there were idols there, 
which being disquieted, rendered their devotee frantic 
and revengeful. It was therefore that Eleonora girt her- 
self about with the rags of rebellion — to hide, if possible, 
the shame of a murderess. 

To this hostile party there were many ready assistants ; 
who, having watched with envious fear the progress of 
Henry's power, became bold enough to take up arms 
against him when they found his own family were the 
leaders of the rebellion. The Kings of France and Scot- 



THE VATICAN. 65 

land, and many of the English Barons, (all secretly 
countenanced by the Vatican), uniting with these princes, 
gave a most formidable character to this rebellion ; which 
was a cloud that had been slowly gathering during the 
sunshine of his prosperity, and now appeared so dense, 
that none but the fierce and indomitable nerves of this 
king could have aspired to break through this gloom. Yet 
against such a phalanx of power, containing within itself 
all kinds of resources, the spirit of Henry fearlessly 
wrestled; and in the year 1174 we find the power and 
government of Henry in the most flourishing condition. 
Within the limited space of these pages, it would be 
impossible to relate the many very interesting circum- 
stances which occurred during this extensive rebellion. 
The names of Hugh Bigod, Robert Earl of Ferrars, Ber- 
trand de Born, Viscount de Hautefort, Roger de Mow- 
bray, William Earl of Gloucester, are in the list of nobles 
who were concerned in the rebellion. The number of 
battles fought, and the quantity of Christian blood vainly 
spilt, are matters for the statistical historian, and may be 
found in Hoveden, M. Paris, Brompton, and other con- 
temporary writers. When this rebellion closed, we per- 
ceive that Henry was absolute master in England. The 
Kings of Scotland and Wales were cumbent vassals, and 
his more distant dominions in France again owned him as 
Lord and Sovereign. The King of France was now 
nearly sixty years of age ; and, quite despairing of the 
object he had hoped this unnatural confederacy would 
secure, was anxious for a peace. Besides, other fears 
were awakened by the successes which had attended the 
military forces of Henry. These successes did not blind 
Henry to many important imperfections in his power, 
which did not strike the eye of others; nor had the 

F 



66 



THE SPIRIT OF 



unnatural character of the rebellion stopped the action of 
his generous disposition, and therefore he reinstated many 
of the barons in their estates, and forgave all his children, 
but caused his Queen to be imprisoned, for she had 
assailed his private passions by destroying his beloved 
mistress, Rosamond de Clifford. 

In referring once more to the Queen of Henry II., it 
should be remarked, that although her youth was replete 
with frivolity and love of display, yet she must have been 
endowed with some very high mental qualities, which 
neither the blandishments of courtiers, nor the intrigues 
of courts, nor the unfaithfulness of her husband, nor the 
excitements of a long life of vicissitude, could destroy. 
In her adversity, we must acknowledge that her highly- 
cultivated mind displayed much vigour, though with all 
the susceptibility which an early love of poetry and ro- 
mance had engendered. Her advice was often sought by 
the kings and princes who nourished and quarrelled 
during her latter years. The stain upon her name is the 
murder of Rosamond. 

Henry destroyed the castles of some of those barons 
favouring his sons in 1173; namely, Huntingdon, Fram- 
lingham, Bungay, Northampton, Alverton, and some others 
of less importance. Hugh Bigod paid 1,000 marks, and 
was pardoned ; as also Robert Earl of Ferrars, Roger de 
Mowbray, Richard Earl of Clare, William Earl of Glou- 
cester, and others. In this peace he enacted many good 
laws, and revived others which had been neglected. It 
was about this time that Richard de Lucy, Chief Justi- 
ciary, died ; and Henry divided England into circuits, and 
sent justices to each, for delivering the gaols ; and made 
many other arrangements for the comfort and permanent 
advantage of his people, Randolph de Glanville being ap- 



THE VATICAN. 67 

pointed Chief Justiciary. It was about the same year, 
1180, that Pope Alexander, and Henry's powerful foe 
Louis the King of France, died. It is said by some, that 
Louis caught a severe cold, when visiting the tomb of 
A'Becket ; on which occasion he gave a massive gold cup, 
and 7,200 gallons of wine yearly, for the priests. (See 
Appendix, XX.) 

New tribulations soon environed the crown and palace 
of Henry. His sons still manifested a rancour and implac- 
able hatred of any superior power to themselves, and 
were ever secretly designing against their father. This dis- 
position did not escape the observation of the Pope, who 
was becoming anxious, lest the hours of peace might again 
attract the mind of this great king to his dearest object, 
viz. civil and religious liberty ; and therefore he aided the 
young princes, whilst they planned the destruction of 
their kind and noble-hearted parent. But the death of the 
eldest, Prince Henry, changed the nature and number of 
those foes, who had so long deprived the King of that 
tranquillity which his fatigues and trials rendered so 
necessary for the preservation of his health. 

Richard and John were still alive. The former had an 
impetuous and cruel disposition, united to many other bad 
qualities ; and watching a certain juncture of his father's 
affairs, and suspecting that his father intended to disin- 
herit him,* and also pretending several injuries which his 
father had done him, he traitorously turned over to the 
great enemy of England — Philip of France — and placed 

* It was the wish of Henry II. to crown his son John king of Eng- 
land during his lifetime, and to give Richard all his dominions lying 
beyond the English sea. Richard was not content ; but fled to Philip 
of France, saying, " Sire, for God's sake suffer me not to be disinherited 
thus by my sire. I am engaged to your sister Alice, who ought by 
right to be my wife. Help me to maintain my right and her's." — 
Bernard de Tresorier. 

f2 



68 



THE SPIRIT OF 



the remaining power of Henry in the greatest dilemma. 
For a short time, Henry rallied ; but his forces being suc- 
cessively routed, and all kinds of misfortunes bringing on 
a crisis, the only expedient remaining was to apply to 
the Pope, and endeavour to induce him to reconcile 
Philip of France, and allay some of the other cruel enemies 
who now assailed him.* Philip rejecting the interference of 
the Pope — or, more correctly, the Pope being now wholly 
indifferent as to the favour of the King of England — Henry 
determined to meet Philip and his own son Richard at Ver- 
zalai. The terms, however, of a peace which he had en- 
tered into were so humiliating and disadvantageous, that 
his spirit soon lost all its fervour and action; and suddenly 
that bright light sunk within its earthen tabernacle, never 
to rise again, in the 57th year of his age. Henry II. as a 
conqueror, surrounded by the brave and triumphant, was a 
dazzling spectacle ; but when the storm of life set in, and 
with pelting violence followed him everywhere, his hardy 

* It would not be too much to say, that to this very day there is 
extant in France, and particularly amongst the well-informed part of 
the aristocracy, very strong and fervent jealousy concerning the sub- 
jugated attitude of that kingdom during this reign. No time will quench 
this feeling; for although Henry was at last, as will appear, the victim 
of warrings, yet they were of a base and unnatural character. At 
the most trying and critical period of Henry's affairs, and when every 
affliction surrounded him, the Vatican deserted the cause of England, 
and left the King, now surrounded by foes, to be baited by the mean 
and unprincipled Philip of France, who, aided by the Pope, beguiled 
the young princes into an extensive and solemn compact of rebellion. 
He, who had never had the talent or power to overcome one of the 
greatest monarchs that ever graced the throne of England, was mean 
enough to doff all knightly honour, and excite this infamous rebellion 
as his aid. Philip's policy was as decrepid as his honour, for he was 
unqualified to maintain any other than a secondary position in Eu- 
rope : even the wild but brave Richard proved his superior ; and 
however the King of France chose to finesse and circumvent, yet the 
star of Europe was Richard Coeur de Lion, the son of the Second 
Henry. It was on his brow that glory glistened, and round him stood 
the bravest of the brave. 



THE VATICAN. 



69 



frame at length yielded and sunk. The shock must have 
been tremendous, to a spirit wholly unschooled to humi- 
liation. Alas ! what can describe the intense agony that 
quivered through the mortal frame tenanted by this un- 
daunted spirit, when the dream of his invincibleness was 
broken, and the tide of his victories rolled back, with the 
shock of his destruction echoing through all Europe ! That 
immeasurable weight of horror, which then entered this 
spirit, could find no place on earth to bear it up; but 
heaving headlong in his mortal parts, urged them down 
even to the relentless grave. A violent fever attacking 
him on the 6th day of July, 1189, at the City of Chinon, 
he caused himself to be carried into the church, before the 
altar, supported by the arms of Geoffrey, the youngest 
son of Rosamond; where, heaving several heavy sighs, 
and throwing his hand on the bosom of Geoffrey, he gave 
up the ghost. His reign was amongst the longest of 
England's princes, viz. 34 years, 8 months, and 12 days. 
Stebbing, in his Kings of England, says Henry's burial 
was thus : — " Clothede in royal robes, crown on his head, 
white gloves on his hands, boots of gold upon his legs, gilt 
spurs upon his heels, a great rich ring upon his finger, 
his sceptre in his hand, his sword by his side, and his 
face all bare and uncovered." 

All historians agree, that blood gushed out in a fresh 
ruby current from his dead body, when his rebellious 
son Richard approached it. It is old John Speed who 
says, that in Henry II. the fierce Norman blood was mo- 
derated by the mild Saxon. All historians find it diffi- 
cult to give a general character to this monarch. There 
are instances, many of his justice, some of his severity, yet 
many more of his clemency. But all agree he was great 
and chivalrous — affectionate and forgiving to his chil- 



70 



THE SPIRIT OE 



dren — and generous and friendly to his subjects. Yet the 
philosopher and moralist must feel a thrill of sorrow, when 
they mark the various stains which dye the mantle of this 
prince ; and there is one who must be named — we mean the 
religionist — who will declare that here again is another 
instance of perverted talent and power ; for doubtless 
Henry II, seemed intended as a vessel of honour, which 
fell aside in its great vocation. He was, by the generosity 
of his noble nature, disposed to favour civil and religious 
liberty ; and he appeared endowed with a genius exactly 
suited for the realization of its object. For a time he 
seemed devoted to this exciting occupation ; but in his 
progress he awakened the gigantic enmity of the Vatican, 
which alternately distracted his judgment and dazzled his 
imagination, and brought on an inequality and infirmity 
of purpose, which, added to his intemperance in one par- 
ticular passion, rendered his reign far less useful and dis- 
tinguished than was at first anticipated. Time, and many 
spirits, all the servants of Providence, took down the 
tabernacle of this mighty and illustrious prince : it was 
reserved for mortals only to look on, whilst time wasted, 
and the fervent heat within the vessel destroyed, its come- 
liness and being. The early part of this king's reign was 
of the very happiest character; indeed, there was not a 
monarch more feared and respected. He was regarded 
by all nations as a king of transcendant quality and 
virtue ; and until the period of the untoward difference 
with his Archbishop A'Becket, the rays of honour which 
encircled his brow knew not the presence of a single 
shade. 

The glory of this mighty spirit may be said to radiate and 
cast its glowing emanations even upon these times, and will 
form a part of all the vain glory of man during the ages of 



THE VATICAN. 



71 



time. We say, vain glory ; for man's real nobility and birth- 
right are beyond the limits of time. Yes ! it is when en- 
shrined in the white robe worn by him who has a simple 
spirit, that man will be truly great. Yet every act of virtue 
and nobility of mind is productive of benefit to man. No 
one can hesitate to concur that all our acts, individual or 
collective, never cease in their effect or results. One 
vicious act, or one virtuous act, is of spirit, and never 
ceases its bounding or reflecting action; and it is this 
that creates the immeasurable responsibility pertaining to 
every act, during this brief state of probation. Man is in 
warfare with the World, the Flesh, and the Devil ; and 
although this may be doubted by reference to the conduct 
of some who seem to be in closest and most amicable 
union with these enemies, yet there are private hours, 
when every soul points lances with these its common 
enemies. Some yield (alas ! too many) ; and some bow, 
as abject slaves hating their masters. If this be so, the 
good example of our fellow-soldiers must be constantly 
exciting us. Now and then comes a most happy mani- 
festation, and Apollyon is stopped on the highway; a 
joyful sound is heard amongst the ranks of the great 
family of man ; the silver trumpet blows. Oh ! 'tis a 
glorious sound ! — 'tis the voice of peace ! — 'tis the death of 
sin. Then, what coruscations of burning lights ! Then 
stars shine out, innumerable and mixed, marshalled by the 
unseen hand: "sponte sua quae se tollunt in luminis oris!" 
Some may think that they are in too humble a grade to 
become distinguished or exemplary ; but a truly virtuous 
or noble mind will not murmur as to its grade or site in 
the social world, because there and everywhere will its 
fragrant preciousness be felt and operative. Nevertheless, 



72 



THE SPIRIT OF 



we may all rejoice, when we can add dignity and authority 
to our example. 

Whilst the death of the First of the Plantagenets was a 
severe blow to civil and religious liberty, it awakened 
joyful acclamations in the halls of the Vatican. Once 
more the creation seemed drear and passive, as dark 
Romanism again spread its awful shadow over the whole 
intellectual and spiritual world. The once gallant owner 
of the palace of Woodstock was now the dumb inhabitant 
of the grave ; and the Spirit of the Vatican arose with a 
satanic smile, to fashion other snares for the subjugation 
of the Warrior King, the Prince of Chivalry, the Crusader 
Knight, Richard Cceur de Lion. It would have been our 
duty to delineate the peculiar predispositions of this 
monarch, and mark the rapid increase of the influence of 
the Vatican during his reign, but we postpone this en- 
gagement for a future occasion. At present, we must 
content ourselves with observing that although the Vati- 
can was a tyrannical and degraded representative of 
a holy convention, yet that convention was of God, and 
contained within it principles which, however perverted and 
prostrated by the weight of the world, the flesh, and the 
devil, can never die ; and although the energies of Henry II. 
had broken up some parts of the fabric of Papacy, yet 
their severance was only temporary, and rapidly reunited 
under the systematic and formidable government of the 
Vatican. How much the contentions between Henry II. 
and the Vatican served the cause of pure religion, was 
impervious for centuries, and could scarcely be expected 
to be distinguishable, until the spirit of true religion 
became the direct and exciting cause of the struggles 
between man and the great antagonist— viz. the Spirit of 



THE VATICAN. 



73 



the Vatican. If the Reformed Church will faithfully 
follow the cloud by day, and the pillar of fire by nighty 
she will vanquish all the enemies of the Cross, and occa- 
sionally witness wonderful manifestations of the progress 
of truth ; but if she will dance round the golden calf, she is 
then but an idolator, although she may profess to war against 
idolatry. Without remarking upon the specimens of Po- 
pery which have already displayed themselves in the various 
sects dissenting from the Reformed Church, we must regret 
that there is a Popery even in our Reformed Church itself, 
which delays her triumph, and detracts from her honour. 
In these pages we have made an attempt to exhibit some 
of the features of Romanism, but we are aware there 
is much imperfection and incompleteness in this effort — 
it is a mere glance ; but ere long we may be permitted 
to renew our attempts to describe this gigantic leper, 
when we shall refer more distinctly to the sufferings and 
persecutions of many a noble being whose love of pure 
religion attracted the malice of the Papal Council. We* 
shall also endeavour to point out the peculiar influence of 
Popery in all those countries in which it now exists, 
and shall necessarily give some account of Romanism in 
Ireland, and trace the history of the Spanish Inquisition, 
which was established in the following reign ; when we 
shall relate facts and depict scenes which we think will 
prove that all the human blood spilt by that cruel court 
was a part of the sacrifices demanded by the Spirit of the 
Vatican. 



DRAMATIC SKETCHES, 



ILLUSTRATIVE OF 



THE SPIRIT OF THE VATICAN 



THE CHARACTER OF HENRY II. 



FIRST OF THE PL ANT AGE NETS. 



INTRODUCTION. 



The following Dramatic Sketches will not be considered 
useless, if they increase the number of readers of the his- 
tory of their country. We think they may prove another 
means of communicating the moral experience and philo- 
sophy of that part of the history of England to which the 
foregoing pages refer. In some instances we have sup- 
plied names for the subordinate characters, particularly in 
the Battle Scene ; but in other respects, we believe, the 
sketches are strictly historical. Perhaps the scenes 
between Father Saul and Simmel and Baynard might 
have appeared extravagant, and therefore they are pre- 
ceded by an extract from an historian of undoubted 
character. Some of the acts and respective scenes have 
been introduced to display the character of the chief of 
the priesthood during this eventful reign, as well as to 
show the Spirit of the Vatican contending with the Spirit 
of Monarchy. 

There are also scenes which may exhibit more fully the 
character of Henry II., as well as that of the accomplished 
heiress of Aquitaine, — Eleonora, Queen of England. The 
latter scenes refer to the period when the career of Henry 
was drawing to a close, when the turmoils and anxieties 
of civil war produced his premature death. 

Our present object necessarily included a full display of 
the character of Henry II. ; and although some might have 
expected that these sketches would consist of continuous 
scenes, exhibiting the presumptions of the Roman Hier- 
archy, and the debauchery and unfaithfulness of the 
Roman Clergy, yet we have thought our subject would 
be better illustrated by scenes incidentally occurring in 
this important and interesting reign. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Henry the Second, King of England. 

Prince Richard, afterwards Richard Cceur de Lion. 

Philip, King of France. 

Duke de Bretagne, Vassal of Henry II. 

Thomas A'Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Richard de Lucy, Chief Justice. 

Randolph de Glanville, a Jurisprudent, afterwards Chief Justice. 

Henry de Blois, Bishop of Winchester, Brother of King Stephen. 

Cardinal Hugo, Legate of the Tope. 

Folliott, Bishop of London. 

Roger, Archbishop of Yorh. 

Peter of Blois, j> 

, T \ Chaplains of Henry II. 
Walter Mapes,} r j v 

Earl or Leicester, an Officer of State. 

Lord Arundel. 

Murchand, a Mercenary Chief. 

Shadow and Wander, Servants of Court. 

Father Saul, a Priest living in the Temple. 

Baynard and Simmel, Hired Murderers. 

Eleonora, Queen of Henry II. 

Isabel, a Spanish Lady, Companion to the Queen. 

Rosamond, Mistress of Henry II. 

Aba, Companion to Rosamond. 

Christabel, Mistress of the Duke de Bretagne. 

Bishops, Priests, Barons, Knights and Ladies, Minstrels, kc. 



DRAMATIC SKETCHES, 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — An Apartment in the King's Palace in London. 

King Henry, Walter Mapes, and 
Peter of Blois. 

king henry [reading letter]. 
, Now, wise and learned chaplain, thou must take 
Some other part, as priests so well know how. 
And all thy flood of lucky thought must halt 
Awhile, e'en as the countless dead do rest 
In purgat'ry. — This comes from crafty Rome, — 

[Holding forth a letter. 

But more anon. 

peter of blois. 

Most royal gracious Liege, 

Some evil news ? — ■ 

KING HENRY. 

Chaplain, I am deceived. 
Ah ! little did the First Henry opine 
What ills would come with legates sent from Rome ! 
All ease and moodful hours must here break up ; 
I now perceive the Primate plays me false : 
My crown is envied by the Vatican ; 
It kicks the beam of justice and of law. 
This axe shall brandish in the eyes of Rome, 
And tear those curling frontlets from its brow, 
Which hide the scaled skin of traitorous priests. 
Becket shall bow, or I will bow to Death ! 



80 



THE SPIRIT OF 



PETER OF BLOIS. 

Could my lov'd King confide again, such trust 
Might once again revive that faithful love 
Which erst the Primate vowed. Once more confide ! 

KING HENRY. 

Not I, sir priest ! I did confide too long ; 
But now there is a purpose in these hands 
Shall roughly tear away that earthly garb 
Which thy presumptuous Church has dared to wear. 

PETER OF RLOIS. 

Dear Liege ! what has the Primate ta'en away ? 

KING HENRY. 

The vaunting priest has stolen a royal robe ; 
Its name is Power. That very power, I say, 
Which I myself had woven, thread by thread, 
Grinding my very bones ; whilst drops of blood, 
Mingled with sweat, evinced my arduous toil. 
With fools it has but form, and is a gawd 
Which lies about, as glittering garniture 
For holidays and envying parasites : 
With knaves it has a stated price in gold : 
With angels 'tis the sinews of their love : 
With fiends it is their wages, duly earned 
By sins committed 'gainst the Almighty's laws, 
Who fearfully as spirits fall'n display 't. 
With children it is seen in innocence — 
That treble and impervious panoply. 
But yet there is a power more glorious far : — 
'Tis seen in majesty and awful pomp, 
When the Supernal from his jasper throne 
All glorious moves. See, in his endless train, 
Archangels, seraphs, girt with glittering wings 
And thrice ten thousand times ten thousand suns, 
Round which revolve, in ceaseless harmony, 
The obedient spheres and faithful satellites ! 
And midst the throng our earth ambitious smiles ! — 
The sea his million liquid mirrors lights ; — 
The glassy towers of the arctic zone 
Prismatic shine ; — whilst the gigantic forms, 



THE VATICAN. 



81 



That wallow round their base, partake the pomp ! — 
The pealing thunder bids the mountains rock 
In praise of Him — whilst the electric flash 
Triumphant plays around with forked tongue, 
And gliding swift from pole to pole, commands 
All tribes and kindreds to break forth in song ! — 
Nay ! e'en the dead, altho' unseen by man, 
Put on bright mantles and the triumph swell ! — 
This is supernal power. — Mine cumbent lies 
As vassal : yet 'tis mine own — 'tis mine — 
It is, and thus it shall be, whilst I am : — 
'Tis precious in my sight. 

PETER OF BLOIS. 

My gracious liege 
Will still obey the ever-prescient power ; 
And let not royal hands form heresies, 
Or spend their power to gratify revenge. 
Such things destroy that noble part which shines, 
And would illume the darker paths of life. 

KING HENRY. 

Oft have I heard you say that every sin 
May absolution gain ; the sins of kings 
Be blotted out : sins of the meteored eye 
Effaced ; — the tongue's foul eloquence made dumb ; — 
And the polluted porches of the ear 
Swept out, and, as a temple, purified. 

PETER OF BLOIS. 

'Tis true, my liege ; the dew of Heaven falls free, 
And every earthly sin may be absolved. 

KING HENRY. 

Yet there are sins unnatural and base, 
Which make my kingdom rank and nauseate. 
How many murders has De Lucy traced 
To sundry priests ! The civil arm shall reach 
These holy murderers. Chaplain, your eye 
Looks doubtingly. What pensive thought beclouds 
That vision, wont to be so clear ? That look 
Askance tells tales — you wish my scrutiny 
T' evade.' — Come, come ! Parturient throes now rend 

G 



82 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Thy pregnant mind. Let me Lucina be. 

The messengers from Rome have sought you out, 

And track'd you even here. What say you, priest ? 

PETER OF BLOIS. 

My liege, it is your high prerogative 
To question thus poor humble priests : yet, know, 
The demarcations of the Holy Church 
Can ne'er be changed by serf, or sage, or king. 
High, far above the stretch of human sight, 
E'en in the brightly gemm'd cerulean arch, 
Its towers now glittering shine, while its deep base 
Immeasurable lies by human art. 
And sooner far shall gape this beauteous globe 
To its deep centre, and entomb all life, 
Than Holy Church her sacred form shall change, 
Or yield one jot to human vanities. 

KING HENRY. 

Is this the vaunting of thy priestly pride ? 
Or priestly craft, thy papal ire to hide ? — 
Or are these impulses evinced by all, 
When the light sinews of their craft are tried ? 
Be less erratic, and less jealous too. 
This vap'rous world with sinners is replete. 
Some doubt the creed ; some doubt the God himself 
We praise so often, and by w T hom we swear. 
Creeds vary as do men, but the great day 
The truth will shew. 

PETER OF BLOIS. 

And the great doctrine, then, 
Of Transubstantiation clearly prove. 

KING HENRY. 

'Tis monstrous, man, to say the priest has power 
To form the body of the holy Lord 
With his unholy hands — those withering hands 
Which wear away midst dull and earthly things ! 
Lex Scripta contradicts thy erring tongue ; 
Nor will the Holy One who lives above 
E'er once endure corruption's wasting palm. 
But now, just now, I willingly declare, 



THE VATICAN. 



I fence not on these borders, questioning 

Mere dogmas strange of thy unerring Church, 

But as a worldling casuist. 'Tis thus 

My eddying brain descants on " Real Presence," 

And Purgatory's climes, the antedate 

Of Absolution, and the like — all these 

A thousand years shall toss upon the tide 

Of time, and storms shall winnow off the chaff. 

PETER OF BLOIS. 

The garden of the Lord can never fade ; 
But there are sins which wear away the soul : 
Ambition's haughty sons offend the Church. 

KING HENRY. 

Chaste priest, the rays of moral light that pass 
From poor mortality's dense medium 
To that rare ether which surrounds you saints, 
Refraction suffer ; and thus scanty faults 
Seem mountains high to modest orbs of priests. 
So have I seen Apollo's disc appear 
Enlarged, when, reeking with their long day's toil, 
His fiery steeds reached Ocean's western bed, 
Where Clymene awaited his embrace, 
Whilst the horizon blushed to see their play. 
So so ! ye prosy and portentous priests 
Would make this world a weary, stagnant pool, 
And drive to sleepy, dull oblivion 
Fair nature's joyance and life's highest zest — 
All buoyant love, and amorous dalliance — 
Adventurous ambition, and the hue 
And cry that keep at bay the fiend Despair. 

PETER OF BLOIS. 

How many great and mighty now are gone, 
Whose names were scarcely wafted on the winds 
In some deep pool of clotted blood ! Nauseous, 
They wear ambition's honours all alone. 

KING HENRY. 

You are too cavilling, you crafty priests. 

PETER OF BLOIS. 

The Church should be the savour of the earth, 

g 2 



84 



THE SPIKIT OF 



And yet, 'tis true, some sins of flesh do grow 
E'en in the holy path where Churchmen tread. 

KING HENRY. 

Yes ! ye are as mortality's white bones, 
Which jaunted through a sensual life to death, 
Shipwrecked and blanched by many a salted tide ; 
Made moral, pure, and holy by constraint. — 
'Tis a lean merit, virtue thus pourtrayed. 

PETER OF BLOIS. 

My gracious liege is wont to be most just. 

KING HENRY. 

Fashioned to virtue are ye by a power 
Thou seest not, which yet with eagle's eye 
Sees thee, and all thy bald fraternity. 
Ah ! all the distance between this and Rome 
Protects thee not from spies and beadsmen's craft ; 
Yea, e'en thy King's, the child and man of war, 
Is watched and weigh'd in every papal scale, 
And scarcely knows if he may breathe till morn. 

PETER OF BLOIS. 

The lambs of Rome require the shepherd's care, 
To keep them from the roaring enemy ; 
And when drear storms and awful darkness come, 
They couch secure within the holy fold. 

KING HENRY. 

Yet there are glistening eyes, and ruby fronts, 
With monks rotund, and abbots hale and gay, 
Preserved and mansioned sumptuously. — But stay, 
Though I could schoolman be, and tales unfold 
Of empty baubles held by hands of priests. 

PETER OF BLOIS. 

My province is to speak of heavenly power. 

KING HENRY. 

Ah ! ah ! That is thy fair vocation, priest — 
The robe of heaven is thine inviolate. 
I ne'er have cast one envious glance on that, 
Nor will I rend one thread ; do as thou wilt, 
'Tis thine — the robe of righteousness is thine : 
The purest men of all this evil world, 



THE VATICAN. 



85 



The true, the real saints first wore it, yet 

To Caesar as an earthly king they bowed, 

For earthly power of all this world was his ; 

But now, just now, 'tis mine, — 'tis mine — all mine. 

And who's so bold that dares to filch mine own ? 

I know there's one — the mitred priest — but I — 

PETER OF BLOIS. 

My royal master knows I seek to serve — 

KING HENRY. 

Well, well ! I may, as many mortals may, 
Trace to myself the source of many ills. 
But if the Vatican intends me wrong, 
I then, as death and spirit oft contend, 
Will wrestle in deep agony ; alone, 
If now it must be so, alone I'll drive 
With burning blade this serf-born vicious priest 
Into some land where such things find much grace. 

[Enter Sir Richard de Lucy, and Gryme, a Priest.] 

To friends I love, [to De Lucy] 'tis thus I ope my palm. 
Why art thou so absorbed in silent thought ? 
Sir Richard, I do love thee much ; but now 
Be prudent — pertinent — to me display 
No meshes of thy craft — delay no more. 

SIR RICHARD. 

The men were sent before the break of day. 

GRYME. 

But on far fleeter wing from Rome will come 
A voice, 

KING HENRY. 

The body of this ill is mine — 
All mine, and will conduct to angry storms, 
Where many proud and fractious priests shall sink. 

GRYME. 

Oh direful deed ! There may come hours when e'en 
My liege may need that holy power now scorn'd. 

KING HENRY. 

This savours much of treason's varied wiles, 
Wheezing 'tween conscience and expedience. 



86 



THE SPIRIT OF 



'Tis neither law, nor love, nor loyalty, 
And lacks authority to boot. 

GRYME. 

My liege ! 

SIR RICHARD. 

Your liege's will all words must overrule. 

KING HENRY. 

My word is now my will — use no delay. 



Scene II. — Henry alone, passing through the Gallery. 

KING HENRY. 

There is a mighty Harper, one who holds 
The times of men, and standing oft between 
This obvious world and long eternity, 
Predicting, leading, guiding mortal things. 
I would this Minstrel now would touch some chord 
Which lulls the noble soul that suffers wrongs 
On his good fame, This priest stands like a cloud, 
Casting around me shade, and gloomy fears, 
And discord makes 'tween subjects and their king. 
The times in w T hich we live have run their score 
Of black iniquity ; the lintels proud 
Of Virtue's habitation have been forced : 
Whilst the coarse citizen looks out with plaints 
Against our royal selves. Now I have caused 
These officers to wend to Merton's lord. 
Hope, like a timid doe in thicket deep, 
Peeps out with panting heart, lest e'en some mesh 
May cast her headlong in a sunken pit. 
These noxious priests ! they swarm throughout my land — 
Poison my people's healthful loyalty. 
The Vatican with France and Geoffrey joined, 
Their treble might will make our hands too full. 
But ah ! somehow this loathsome priest shall yield, 
E'en if I drag him from the papal chair. — 
Yet this for present time we now forget, 
For some sweet, honied words this Queen requires, 
Or she will aid my foe with woman's spite. 
Alas ! the proudest steps I take are mean 



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87 



Whilst such a shade as false A'Becket lives. 

Oh ! 'tis a conflict hard, and wears me more 

Than angry war or discord's toils, — to fawn, 

And fashion words to suit the Vatican, — 

But still 'tis work I dare not now neglect ! 

Here comes the Queen from vespers, I declare — 

I must be gallant as a Spanish knight, 

For she has eyes sharp as an alguazil; 

And secretly with Rome she corresponds. 

Her pallid face becomes her lengthened prayers ; — 

Romance and piety are dainty bits, 

But far too pure to gratify oar Queen. 

They are the semblances she uses well, 

And interlards these things with feigning sighs ; — 

Indeed such loving makes me cease to love ; 

And yet I must be big with sighs and groans, 

With deep, romantic yawns and upturned eyes. 

[Passing.] 

Ah ! here she comes, with downcast nodding plumes, 
Perusing parchment scraps with anxious glance, — 
Some wondrous recipe from Rome, I guess. 

[Eleonora enters.'] 
Good Queen, thy earnest piety puts shade 
On all the seemings of religious life. 

ELEONORA. 

A holy life puts shame on piety ; — 
But thy gay, glistening fortune needs not this, — 
It is the refuge of mortality 

When pressed by secret and heart-piercing woes. 

KING HENRY. 

Oh ! thou hast heavenly love attending thee, 
To keep thee ever. 

ELEONORA. 

Love on earth, where pure, 
Is heavenly love ; where forced, it is not love. 

KING HENRY. 

The spirits pure revolve in perfect love ; — 
But what is earthly love ? This question oft 
I poise and balance at my lance's end. 
My chaplain tells me it is a foul sin. 



88 



THE SPIRIT OF 



ELEONORA. 

By loving, you may learn the answer true, 
As the bold diver knows the white pearl's bed, — 
Whilst they who buy and sell this precious thing 
Know nothing of her deep and beauteous cell. 
Love will exalt, although dependence comes 
And forms its nature and its dignity; 
As ivy o'er the castle turret high 
Clings to the rugged wall, and whilst it yields 
It borrows strength from might and majesty, 
And with its emerald cloak in sombre guise 
It decks the noble pile of mother earth, 
Diverts the sultry sun ; and every storm 
And hurricane but strengthens that embrace, 
Which shall for ever last. 

KING HENRY. 

For ever ? ah ! 
For ever is so very long, good Queen ! 

ELEONORA. 

It is not long — it is no part of time. 

KING HENRY. 

Wise Queen, thou shalt instruct me more at length, 
For I do love grave learning's depths and heights, 
And schoolmen's difficult and knotty points ! 
I love romantic thought. Dost doubt, dear Queen ? 

ELEONORA. 

No, no ! — I speak no more just now ; 'tis vain. 

KING HENRY. 

What says my Queen ? thou dost not love thy lord ! 

ELEONORA. 

Ah, cruel King ! I love thee overmuch ! 
I love not raillery, and that thou know'st ! 
If in thy absence moan the gustjr winds, 
I sigh, and fondly pray that iEolus 
Would call them to their dreary homes ; whilst I 
With doubts presaging muse the livelong day. 

king henry [aside, laughs.] 
I suffer pangs I ne'er can tell thee, Queen. 



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89 



ELEONORA. 

Good King, 'tis love alone can tell those pangs ! 

KING HENRY. 

Indeed ! things come to pass, and will prevail 
As heavy turbid seas, and stay our steps, 
When we would urge to Helena our Queen ! 

ELEONORA. 

As breakers keep at bay those once so lov'd, 
Until one sweeping surge o'erwhelms them all. 

KING HENRY. 

Ah, ah ! just so ! [Laughs satirically. 

ELEONORA. 

Or as the roaring winds 
Oft stay the anxious mariner from land, 
Whilst his lone love, pensive, through lightning's glare 
Watches through mists and many a murky cloud— 

KING HENRY. 

Ah ! just — These boisterous storms are dangerous. 

ELEONORA. 

— That she may see his bark then mounting o'er 
The raging billows, guided by the arm 
Of faithful love. Alas ! she listens long 
To the dull wail of cold and whistling blasts, 
Through all the dreary midnight hours alone. 

KING HENRY. 

Just so ! it must be very tedious ! 

ELEONORA. 

— And then in deathlike sleep at last she sinks. 

KING HENRY. 

After a stormy night, the morning's calm ! 

ELEONORA. 

The morn breaks out in bright and gay array, 
And by its glorious light is seen afar, 
Ploughing its path, the gallant, haughty bark ; 
And whilst upon those waves she boldly rides, 
Comes music gay, with jocund revelry, 
Within that bark. 



90 



THE SPIRIT OF 



KING HENRY. 

How strange ! indeed, how sad ! — 
Or rather very good, if in good tune. 
Alas ! alas ! — How is my grey-wing'd hawk ? 
My dear old hawk ! I long to cheer him up. 
See ! see ! he comes ! — Good hawk ! Good day, good Queen. 
[The King leaves, bursting with satirical laughter. 

eleonora [aside, alone.~\ 
This cold insulting prince would hreak a heart, 
If I had simply trusted out that thing. 
'Twas never his — and never shall be now ! 
His lovely lip in heedless satire rose. 
This wakes the fiends of hell, whose whisperings 
Suggest dark thoughts to my deserted heart ! 
A day will come — a day shall come — when I 
Will blanch the rose more fair, more pallid far 
Than sickly lily of the vale. Revenge ! 
Come minstrel fiends, and grisly Death, unite ! 
Wait by my side until the hour is come 
When I may tear this noxious nightshade up, 
This heiress fair of mad De Clifford's loins. 
My good confessor oft has promised me 
The Vatican will superscribe that scroll 
Which shall direct her death, and free my soul. 

Scene III. — -Shadow and Wander sitting under a tree 
on the road from Merton, after delivering the King's 
summons to A'Bechet. 

SHADOW. 

Stay — this is downright heresy. 

WANDER. 

It may be just as you say, or any other of the magical 
words of the priest's manufacturing. What I know is this : 
I paid seven marks to have Moll prayed for three times ; 
but they left her out of the list every time, and prayed for 
the repose of a living man instead, — so there she lies 
groaning in purgatory. 

SHADOW. 

These are sacred subjects, and dangerous for common 
folks to talk about ; we may be overheard and imprisoned. 



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91 



You must know, I am bewildered by an unalterable at- 
tachment, which is not yet thoroughly returned. 

WANDER. 

Ha ! ha ! Such a crimped Churchman as you ought to 
see all and say nothing. Is there a nun in your sleeve ? 

SHADOW. 

There's a little star in my eye, that twinkles day and 
night. 

WANDER. 

Ah yes ! I can see it ! What's it like ? 

SHADOW, 

I've consulted four shepherds, three witches, two deaf 
priests, and a negro ; — and they all say it is a shooting 
star, which the fat and lazy are crossed by. 

WANDER. 

Yours is an interesting state. 

SHADOW. 

Yes, I know I am bitterly wept for; pints of boiling 
hot tears are spilt for me. But what I don't like at all is 
my dear love's confessing to a priest. 

WANDER. 

Come, come ! a thoroughbred back-and-bone Church- 
man like you must not be jealous ! Cheer up, and wear 
your pepper-and-salt heart ! 

SHADOW. 

Alackaday ! my good fellow, I shall never survive my 
dreadful woes. She can't bear pepper-and-salt now ; she 
loves red and green and black : I've had a suit of each — 
but she says none of 'em fit me, I'm so fat. 

WANDER. 

Take my advice : get a pair of horns, and when she is 
confessing, frighten her into fifty fits, — save her life on the 
spot, cut the priest's sack -purse ; and, dragging his carcase 
to the king, receive a premium — that's the way to fortune. 
Why, I should have lost dear Gubby's heart, if I had not 
pricked an old priest in a very sensible corner ; — and they 
all go straight to heaven, whatever they may be about at 
starting. 

SHADOW. 

Mercy! if I had your courage and your long broad- 



92 



THE SPIRIT OF 



sword there, and a priest were to go for to offer insult 
to — 

WANDER. 

"Why then, I suppose, you would just tickle him, and 
make him howl and screech, and bring a whole hive 
upon you. Mark me, if you strike, strike home, and send 
him post to heaven. Our King has his hands full, trolling 
the Merton porpoise — I could give him a broad hint. 
These Italian priests are watching like cats. But see ! 
whilst we are speaking, the sun already peeps. 

SHADOW. 

Let us go on and snuff the flowers. We can pass by 
the old nunnery, where we saw the bright lamps of the 
little glowworms. 

WANDER. 

Ah ! I remember, on the last visit I made to this 
country, I saw hundreds spotting the thick underwood. I 
was then with poor old Levick : — but f tis a dull and dismal 
story, and makes one's flesh creep, and blood curdle, when 
I think on't. And when I pass these old and mouldering 
walls, I feel as meek as the vintner's daughter. Indeed 
there is a good deal I don't like, a sort of mysterious some- 
thing about the fathers, and the nunneries, and all that. 
Ah ! 'tis a dismal story to tell. 

SHADOW. 

Let us haste on, and you can tell it as we jog. I am 
ready, and will stay no longer. 

WANDER. 

I am ready too, and glad enough to get away. 

SHADOW. 

Well, now then for the goblin tale. 

WANDER. 

Well ! to come to the real point at once (but that was 
when the King and the Archbishop were friends), you must 
know that old Levick and I were trotting homewards, and 
the big lamp of heaven was up, when all of a sudden I saw 
a white feathery thing dart through the adjoining wood, 
and dash along like a whirlwind. I thought it was some 



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93 



visionary sprite, until I heard a loud shrill scream, as it 
scrambled and tore its way through the rough and thorny 
thicket. Suddenly it stopped, and we saw it was a woman. 
It looked round, and then, with a dismal shriek, it fell. It 
was evidently pursued by something which we heard 
coming panting and heaving like some wild boar from the 
north. In another instant, there rushed out a huge monk 
with starting eyeballs ; and as he eagerly clambered the 
thicket, he stumbled on the fallen object, and his head 
coming in contact with the short stump of a tree, he lay 
stunned and lifeless. Oh! such a hideous sight he 
looked ! 

SHADOW. 

Were you not frightened to death ? I have often heard 
of such things. Were they both killed ? 

WANDER. 

The nun, for such she proved to be, although not ap- 
parently wounded, was so terribly frightened, and fainted 
so many times, that a Thames tide would have wasted in 
bringing her to. She died, poor thing: — and never shall 
I forget her look, when she pointed at the burly monk, 
and cried, " Murderer ! — murderer !" 

SHADOW. 

Horrible ! horrible ! My sister was an abbey-maid, and 
told sad tales of the goings-on between the friars and 
nuns. But what became of the beastly monk ? 

WANDER. 

Oh ! his black blood oozed out in haste, as though fright- 
ened at the heart from which it flowed. The last thing 
he did was in a sort of fretting fit, to pull his cowl over 
his brow, which the fall had turned aside. We then heard 
the tramp of horses, and left that hideous heap of beastli- 
ness to live or die. 

SHADOW. 

Ah ! there you proved your wisdom ; — for I knew a 
maid who was roasted for seeing a monk in a certain 
affray. However, these things must be changed ; — and I 
guess that our King Harry will rout out many more be- 
sides the Merton Hog. 



94 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Scene IV. — Sir T. A'Becket alone in an Apartment at 

Merton. 

a'becket. [Reads the Royal Summons. 
Yes ! I begin to scan this odious plot, 
But see not yet what part is mine to take, 
Or where my soul shall stumble or awake. 
Oh, holy Mary ! lead my truant soul 
To guardian angels and the saints of heaven ! 
My spirit now is bayed and mortified. 
Ye gems that glow with dazzling radiance ! 
Ye brazen gates and picture-tapestried walls ! 
Ye Doric arches ! Parian obelisks, 
Fretted and burnished as Apollo's brow, 
Decking proud Merton's sylvan solitude, — 
Are ye endowed with voice of prophecy ? 
Say, must I leave your peaceful loveliness, — 
Say, shall these shadowy walls and arched roofs, 
Which oft have witnessed my suppliant knee 
And fervent prayer and deep humility, 
Form the rough outposts of some tawny tribe 
Wandering in squalid misery o'er the land, 
Uncertain where to stay their weary feet, 
Yet with sure footsteps treading down to hell ? 
There yet, e'en yet, some little space remains, 
In which the frowns of office I may mart, 
Adorn'd with smiles of sunshine from the past ; 
And this may some inclemencies defend. 
As to this worldly tournament — I must, 
Within the deep recesses of my mind, 
Some dext'rous means now promptly meditate 
To make this royal rival bite the dust, 
And humbly supplicate the love of Rome. 
Some low-bred second I may here require, 
To whisper news, and cunning counsel give 
In this untoward and untrodden path : 
And yet, dare I another being trust 
My steps to plant, and dictate to my soul ? 
I must be, whilst I may ; and what I must, 
I dare. To be, is vastness of reality 
And gorgeous amount of dignity ; 



THE VATICAN. 



But to incarcerate my vaunting soul 

Within another's soul, is but a base 

And impious safety I will never seek ; 

But ah, my soul ! this is a world of strife. 

Why do I quarrel with the course of Time, 

Whose silent power no earthly thing resists, — 

Whose tooth hard monuments of brass corrodes, 

And bids to moulder those high conic piles 

That cover regal rottenness and pride ? 

Shine out, ye constant stars ! e'en in this scorn 

I have your faithful light attending me. 

Oh ! that your beams ethereal could pierce 

The dark laboratory of human mind, — 

Then might I gaze upon the frowning eye, 

Deep set beneath the pursed royal brow, 

And tell the whys — the hows — and whereabouts, 

By which I am beset. T cannot trim, 

As courtiers glib know when and how — not I. 

I, who have chased the angry boar alone, 

And sought mine enemies e'en in the dark, 

When savage Ipres and his host fell back, 

When kings and princes waited by, to hail 

" The bravest of the brave ! " — I ne'er will bow, 

Nor doff one right which holy Rome has claimed, 

Though death and kings join hand to scare my soul : 

I'll laugh with indignation at them all ! 

The Cross shall wear that crown which hands of kings 

Shall never, never tear from my embrace. 

To Rome — to holy Rome I now will write, 

And let great Alexander know my woes. 

For Heaven and Heaven's Anointed now I war ; — 

No love I want from wild and reckless kings ! 

My wrongs will lie before the Vatican, 

Whose thund'ring peals of anger none can stay. 

Soon will this king and all his valiant seers 

Be penitent, and ask for grace in vain, 

England shall rue the day when first it dared 

Disturb the holy peace which shone in Rome. 

I'll pray the Pope to issue interdict, 

Depose this king, and close the very grave. 

Ere I will bow before this heretic. 



96 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Scene V. — King Henry meets Walter Mapes.* 

king henry. 
Well, happy Gollias, I would be gay — 
But these rank priests, thy brethren, do toil 
To make nie sad, and puzzle my sick brain. 
The Pope has sent another bevy forth 
To watch and linger in our royal path ; 
But they are like the mighty Vatican, — 
A purse of gold will buy their honied words. 

WALTER MAPES. 

My liege, I told you thus, and more I know ; 
The Pope will empty Rome of every priest, 
(And some about your court are priests disguised, 
To watch you breathe, and hear your humour's vent.) 
Yes, I could shew you sights would shock your soul, 
And make you doubt the very faith we love ; 
But time and all its storms will prove me just. 

king henry. 
Walter, they say thou hast an envious eye, 
And vaunting with thy songs so scand'lously 
Thy wit, lead'st Lady Fancy out of bounds ; 
And gay Thalia jaunts away with thee, 
Displays her wanton form, then stealthily 
Assumes her mask of cold sobriety ; 
Yet in the midst of wild festivity, 
She sings Circean songs with melody. 
My chaplain loves this young divinity, 
And tells me she's the dame Mnemosyne. 

WALTER MAPES. 

My liege ! my liege ! it is Mnemosyne, 
And not Thalia, has supplied that song, 
Which makes the Pope himself forejudge my soul. 
As sweet Diana's self outstrips the winds, 
Through woods and pathless wilds, o'er mountain's snows ; 

* Walter Mapes was chaplain to Henry II, ; he wrote many sa- 
tirical poems on the Roman priests, including the Pope himself. He 
was known as Gol'ias (see Life of Walter Mapes, lately published by 
the Camden Society.) 



THE VATICAN. 



97 



The kind Mnemosyne, with Clio's aid, 

Bounds down the unseen vale, where things which were, 

Lie in their graves and mould'ring sepulchres ; 

'Tis there, inspired, she chaunts her holy songs, 

And oft her tuneful voice soft echo wakes ; 

In sighs she rests. 

KING HENRY. 

And then Thalia comes, 
Arrayed in gold and silvery dress so bright ; 
And as some hoary fairy she steps forth, 
Whispering some medley strange and intricate, 
She makes my chaplain think 'tis memory, 
And not the tales which youthful fancy bred. 

WALTER MAPES. 

I wish my liege would join me for one eve ; 
Then I could prove my songs had modesty, 
Which ne'er adorns the lives of Roman priests. 

KING HENRY. 

Walter, some day far hence, in majesty, 
We may sit down with all the thousand tribes, 
And judge these recreant priests ; but now, 
Just now, we must believe them pure as heav'n, 
Or into hell they'll jerk us all pellmell. 

WALTER MAPES. 

One eve shall prove my liege too merciful. 

KING HENRY. 

But where, and when, and how, could I survey 
The merry monks, who pray so heartily ? 
They know my bearing well. 

WALTER MAPES. 

Leave that to me. 
A carnival this night is opportune, 
Where foreign monks carouse and spend their gold, 
I'll lead my liege, right in the midst of all ; 
Yes, at the house I know. — Leave that to me. 
I'll show thee all the passions in full play, 
At summit all — with all their hectic glow, 
And burning glance, which ever radiate 
The brow of sin which wars against the soul. 

H 



98 



THE SPIRIT OF 



KING HENRY. 

The substance of this news gives horned face 
To pondering thought : I will — I must resolve. 
'Tis well — I'll join your merry scene this night, 
And view these sage Italian monks in cups. 
What order shall I be ? — Cistercian ? 

WALTER MAPES. 

Capuchin will be best becoming thee ; 
I'll make thee priest. I'll come, my liege, at ten. 

Scene VI. — Monks and Cavaliers carousing in a Tavern. 

ANSELM DE BURGOS. 

I hear some news — Sir Thomas fights the King ! 
Tell me what this all means. 

GODRICK. 

The King is mad, and kicks against the pricks ; 
As some wild colt he wrestles with his lord : 

A CAVALIER. 

[Standing behind Father Godrick, taking up his hands. 
Ye learned Friars, just listen here awhile. 
This is the holy priest, who often prays 
That he may kiss a pretty nun alone, — 
And often fasts until his hunger comes, — 
And never drinks except the wine is good. 
He is the Pope's vicegerent, — well employed. 

[The Monk falls on the floor quite tipsy. 
He's rather drunk, but that's the fault of wine ! 
Some day he'll be Archbishop, so they say, — 
And find us merry souls another way 
To heaven ; and all I say, I wish he may. 

[Turns his empty glass on the face of the fallen Priest. 
Here's holy water, which I pour on thee,- — ■ 
And make St. Osith's priest thus consecrate. 
All who can stand, now join your hands with me, 
And let us dance and sing right merrily. 
Here's Hermitage and Burgundy so bright, 
Which makes old joys return, and woe so light, 
That like a feather it goes dancing by, 
To seek a bed in some fair maiden's eye ; 
And gives to loveliness a pensive dye 
And heaving cadence to soft minstrelsy. 



THE VATICAN. 



99 



Enter King and Walter Mapes as Foreign Monks, 

WALTER. 

All happy souls, who quaff old Vally's wine ! 

KING HENRY. 

'Tis wine which washes sin into the veins, 
And drives men on to Pluto's gloomy shade. 
Alas ! these priests seem sliding in apace. 

WALTER. 

Alas ! they drink of Sodom's feverish wines, 
And waste their strength to drink Gomorrah's gall, 
And thus fall into Hades' awful gulf. 

Vally, the Hostess, appears. 

VALLY. 

Good holy fathers, ye are welcome here. 
What generous wines shall tempt your sacred lips ? 
Here's Hermitage and Burgundy so bright. 

WALTER. 

Good mother Val, your guests are rather gay. 

VALLY. 

The night is early yet ; we soon shall have 
The fairest dames who live in palaces, 
With cavaliers, and many pious souls ; 
And I expect the Pope this very night. 

[In a corner of the room, a Priest talking with a 
stranger in a low voice — overheard. 

FATHER SAUL. 

He struggled hard ? Ah yes ! You strangled him* — 
And left no marks ? 

BAYNARD. 

He crunched his teeth with pain ; 
And once he said, " O Lord ! have mercy, Lord !" 

* The Archbishop, A'Becket, had lately protected some clergymen, 
guilty of enormous and capital crimes, from being delivered up to the 
justice of the crown ; and amongst others, there was one accused of 
haying debauched a gentleman's daughter, and of having, to secure his 
enjoyment of her, murdered her father. The King required him to 
be brought to judgment before a civil tribunal, that if convicted he 
might suffer a penalty adequate to his guilt, which the ecclesiastical 
judicature could not inflict upon him; but this was resisted by 
A'Becket. — Lord Lyttleton, Vol. iv.p. 15. 

H 2 



100 



THE SPIRIT OF 



I laugh'd, and so did Simmel laugh, to see 
The freaks he made to heave us off his chest. 

SAUL. 

You clos'd with him ? 

BAYNARD. 

And stamp'd upon his heart. 

SAUL. 

And yet you say he spoke ? 

BAYNARD. 

I only heard. 
Poor gentleman ! We smothered up his face 
Whilst Simmel gagg'd and press'd upon his throat : 
And now and then he mutter'd words, and groaned, 
Until the pool of life was well sopp'd up. 
Poor gentleman !— How hard it is to die ! 

SAUL. 

The Church will bless, and absolution give. 

BAYNARD. 

Come, priest, I want the gold, for Simmel waits. 

savl. [Gives gold. 

There's gold enough to waft thee up to heav'n. 

BAYNARD. 

This bag wants weight. 

SAUL. 

Baynard, I have no more. 

BAYNARD. 

I'm like a hungry wolf: — I must have gold, 
To hide these bloody hands from common ken. 
Simmel claims half, and threatens he'll have more. 

SAUL. 

Who brings the maid to me ? 

BAYNARD. 

I and my men. 

SAUL. 

Then Simmel's work is done. Now let him die — 
The Church will then absolve his evil soul, 
And cast his petty sins on wand'ring winds. 

BAYNARD. 

What ! murder him ? 



THE VATICAN. 



101 



SAUL. 

And keep the gold thyself. 

BAYNARD. 

What ! murder Sim ? — with these old tawny hands ? 
Poor Sim ! he has a little lad at sea ! 
An aged mother, too, depends on Sim 
For bread and drink. I will not murder him. 
What fiend has whisper'd this ? — wast thee, old priest ? 

[Seizes the Priest. 
Give me the gold — or give me hack the breath 
Which gurgled through the wide-extended throat 
Of that poor gentleman. 

SAUL. 

Baynard, be still. 

BAYNARD. 

For why ? 

SAUL. 

[Pushes it into his hand hurriedly. 
Here's gold — here's gold — see it — feel it. 
Give share to Sim ; — but at the Temple stairs 
We meet. 

BAYNARD. 

Poor Sim ! What ! murder Sim ? — No — no. 

SAUL. 

Hush ! hush ! — those strangers there move tow'rds us, 
As though intent to speak. 

BAYNARD. 

This night, at twelve, 
We bring the maid, closed in a sack tight bound. 

SAUL. 

Baynard, my friend, farewell ! — At twelve this night ! 

[Walks up and down the room, absorbed — talks 
aloud, but unaware of it. 
Somehow I must secure this modest thing. 
Yes ! I could yield all things I ever lov'd, 
Once more to see that neck ! — That neck was bare ; 
Whilst all along her panting breast, the light 
Was dazzled by her golden hair ; profuse 
It hung like clouds tinged by the setting sun, 
And seem'd to have eternal wastes, in which 
Young Joy might roam and win a glance of heav'n. 



102 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Scene VII. — Priest's House. 

PRIEST. 

Who knocks 1 

SERVANT. 

A man without asks audience. 

PRIEST. 

Let him come in. 'Tis Simmel, I'll be sworn. 
I have a rumour in my soul 'tis him ; 
My dreams were full of him, Baynard, and death. 
Enter Simmel. 

PRIEST. 

How now ? 

simmel. [Kneels and hides his face. 
If absolution blots out sins, 
I would confess to thee, good Father, now. 

PRIEST. 

Now ? now ? I must go forth. 

simmel. 

Oh, Father, stay ! 
I am borne down with sins which waste my heart. 

priest. 

What sins ? of what ? Hast thou been thief, or what ? 
simmel. 

Good Priest — 'tis true I have been thief — Alas ! 
These hands have stolen a precious thing. 

priest. 

But what? 

Be thrifty, man; I want no more report. 
The price of sins like thine is small. — But hark, 
First pay the Church, and then restore that thing, 
And then ask intercession of the saints. 

SIMMEL. 

My scorched heart will burst — dear Father, now, 

[Throws down some gold. 
'Tis absolution must be granted me. 
Here's gold — the gold — the very gold which I 

[Trembles very much, and stammers. 
Which I received for blood — an old man's blood. 



THE VATICAN. 



103 



Oh Priest ! there is a burning heat within, 
Which nought about this earth can ever quench. 
There is a tumult here like brawling fiends ! 
Would that the earth had op'd and swallowed me 
Ere that foul sin had stain'd these brawny hands ! 

PRIEST. 

The holy Church has power. Forget this sin. 
Thou hast confess'd — thou art absolv'd — 'tis o'er — 
The price is paid, and Heav'n can claim no more. 
The Church will bear e'en such a sin as this, 
And hide it from the eye of mighty Heav'n ; 
The Pope of Rome is Heav'n' s vicegerent here, 
And from the treasury of good men's deeds 
Will grant indulgence to thy naughty soul : 
Ah yes — for ever — through all changeful scenes, 
And whilst eternity, exhaustless, heaves 
Its mystic form and nature, yet unknown. 
But thou must pray to holy Mary's form, 
And lift thine eyes to saints who live in heaven, 
To mediate 'tween the Holy One and man. 

Now is the instant for my darkest thoughts [Aside. 
To shape themselves in form of honest speech. 
But can I trust that faint tall murderer ? 
Or shall I write to Rome that even yet 
I have no arm I can direct direct ? 
But I will try, whilst hell attunes my tongue. 

[Turning his back on SimmeL 

Prom whom or whence thou cam'st, concerns not me. 
But string thy nerves awhile — just while I speak; 
And think of any thing thou lov'st in life, 
And know that thou shalt have e'en in thy palm 
The power to satisfy thy blithest lusts, 
Be what they may. — There ! tell them not to me, 
For I have but an office to fulfil, 
And am no chapman with these ingots here. 
Weigh'd in the fairest balances they were : 

[Throws down several bars of gold. 
There take them all — they all are thine — ah, all ! 
I want thy aid to lead a truant king 
To his last home in safety and alone. 

Thus serve the Church — thus serve thy soul. — Dost hear ? 
Dost hear ? [aside] That tenfold gloom alarms me now ! 



104 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Or else in Purgat'ry thy soul will lie, 
Whilst countless years will ever, ever roll. 

SIM MEL. 

More blood ! more blood! These hands do writhe at this! 

priest. 

Dost hear ? dost see ? 

[Shews the gold, and a written paper directing 
the King's death from the Pope, 

SIMM EL. 

My eyes are full of blood! — 
I see nought now but blood ! My hands are blood, 
My eyes are blood, — -that paper is all blood ! 

[Sinks down, face covered. 

PRIEST. 

Man — fool — I see thou'rt mad. Ho ! ho ! 
Without ! take this foul murderer away. 

SIMMEL. 

Great Priest, good Priest, Father — hear me ! hear me ! 

PRIEST. 

Hear me ! I am confessor to that King. 
I would such royal sinners breath'd in heav'n, 
Deported by the holy Church — quite safe. 
Come, come ! dost hear? I would befriend thee, man. 
'Tis no new task for thee. The Church loves thee : 
Now love the Church, and leave the end to me. 

SIMMEL. 

Anguish o'erflows my soul. — Good Priest, forbear ; 
My brain will burst — 1 will obey the Church. 

PRIEST. 

Good man ! — See there that shining gold — see there ! 
'Twill buy thee absolution o'er and o'er ; 
Yea, thou may'st murder father, mother, son,* 
And be unscathed as blood-bought sinners are. 
Come, turn those filmy eyes — the gold is here. 
Think of the mirthful hours 'twill purchase thee — 
The long carousings undelayed by want. 
'Twill buy thee mailed coat 'gainst every power 
On earth, and ope the gates of heaven at last ; 
Where thou may'st bask on golden slopes, whilst Time 

* See Appendix, Absolution. 



THE VATICAN. 



105 



In nether worlds is charm'd in endless sleep, 

By cadence of the soft inspired notes 

Which quiver on the lip of seraphim 

Who lead the eternal choirs. Wake, man ! see gold ! 

simm el [aside], 
I see but hell, which now awaits my soul, 
And fiends are 'tending there to dash with me 
Deep down into the burning core within. 
How to escape — how to endure ? Ah how ? 
There's murderers and filthy beings there, 
And some I thought I ne'er should see again. 
I see their angry frowns ; their shouts I hear. 
Some fellow murderer will sneer on me. 

PRIEST. 

Wake up, good man ! Now for thy faithful love. 
Or shall the Church provide thee tortures prompt, 
To purge thy soul of cruel murder's stains ? 
Awake! Why dost thou stare on me, caitiff? 
That was a glance of recognition fierce, [Aside. 
But still restrained — 'twas fear, 'twas gloom, 'twas threat ! 
'Tis past endurance now. I'll change my end, 
And cast him on the law's deep shoals and sands ; 
They'll swallow up that wretch, and I, intact, 
Will whisper warnings to the King and Lords. 
That murderer's arms now yawn for noble blood ; 
And when they ask for evidence complete, 
I'll ask their praise to holy Mary's name 
That still they live and breathe above the grave. 

SIMMEL. 

I'll leave, and see thee in the falling eve ; 

For hours have sped too glib since I've been here. 

He sees I know again his gloating eye, [Aside. 

He means to have his end — I'll fly. 

PRIEST. 

Or die ! 
[Stamps — three men rush in. 
Lead this man down — blindfold him as you go. 
His days are few,* or mine are full of woe. [Aside. 



* At this period the superior priests were authorized to hold a 
private inquisition in their houses, and to torture for heresy. 



106 



THE SPIRIT OF 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — Apartment in Palace. 
King Henry and Sir Richard de Lucy. 

KING HENRY. 

Sir Richard, now at highest premium 
Your mystic art appears. A king will give 
A kingly price to rout from forth his web, 
Bedabbled with the dew of luxury, 
A bloated spider, loathsome to his sight, — 
Or run a veteran doubling fox to snare. 
Go, bid thy minions arm and multiply, 
Until from us to Merton they shall reach. 
Why is this priest so safe in burrow lodged, 
As if, like timid hare in 'vantage ground, 
All nature lent him her surrounding aid ; 
Whilst he can hear the tramp of champing steed, 
The piercing fife, and louder trumpet's blast, 
Sound through the cloisters of his deep recess ? 
Sir Richard, come, my patience thou dost mock ; 
I wait, as does a blushing love-sick maid : — 
She thinks — she knows — that is, she hopes — he loves 
But hope's fond tale is flattering and vain. 
What of our royal summons to the priest ? 

SIR RICHARD. 

It is reported he is sick and sad ; — 
Some say 'tis too much state delays his steps. 

KING HENRY. 

But who's without ? List ! 'tis the priest himself : 
I know his gait, and rumour of his step. 
This second summons efficacious proves, 
To rouse the slumbering tiger from his lair. 

Enter Archbishop. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

At last, my Liege's humble servant 's here ; — 
Has dragged his heavy limbs — now failing fast — 



THE VATICAN. 



To be revived in the presence-air 

Of royalty — so gracious — comely — just ! 

sir richard [aside.] 
Sickness has blanch'd the Primate's learned brow. 

KING HENRY. 

Sir Priest, 'tis well. I wish the hours would wait 
For men, and men for kings ; leaving at large 
All gross and earthly baubles for the world — 
The dull and sinning world, who oft are wrecked 
By weight of ingots, which, in getting, soil. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

When virtue's lovers so fastidious grow, 
The eye is querulous, the ear wide opes, 
And numerous flaws, alas! in judgment come. 
What need, my Liege, to hold a common broil 
With me ? — with me, thy best, thy earliest friend ? — 
This leads to woes immedicably wide. 
But know, I am the Primate of this land, — 
Protector of the rights, all paramount, 
Of the eternal world. Consider this ! 

KING HENRY. 

Let prudence with thy eloquence keep pace ! 
Be frugal of thy words ! for present time 
Admits no idle use or wandering. 
Mark me ! as far as King the future can o'errule, 
Men shall walk less together ; — Yes, far jless, 
And let the fresh'ning breezes 'tween them sweep ; 
And thus stagnation's evils foul prevent, 
Engendering plagues and pestilences dire. 

SIR RICHARD. 

My lord, the King commands your presence here 
To-morrow's morn, John Marshall, knight, to meet. 

KING HENRY. 

Yes, yes ! thy eloquence may stead thee then. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

What revolutions are in state ! A king 
Of Norman lineage a yeoman hires, 
His primate, — shepherd — father — to waylay ! 



108 



THE SPIRIT OF 



SIR RICHARD. 

Your grace should know that heinous crime comes 
From places holy, which the King offends, 
And justice full and summary demands. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Indeed ! 'tis strange ! Expedience may, 'tis true, 
Some simulations and disguise require 
In the prerogative of earthly kings ; 
But when a prince can once forget the grace 
Which Heaven's own hand encircled on his brow, 
The heavenly similitude is lost ; — 
Upon his royal head, though diadem'd, 
Must glory's arch and hieroglyphics fade. 

SIR RICHARD. 

Beware ! your grace's tongue the King offends. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Justiciary ! 'tis flattery's antidote ; 
For soon the still small voice of guardian conscience,- 
That heaven-appointed monitor within — 
Is lost and drown'd amid the boisterous shouts 
And praises loud of senseless multitudes — 
The fickle, faithless, and misjudging world ; 
And thus the virtues of a noble king 
Are lost — ignobly lost. 

SIR RICHARD. 

Your grace's tongue 
Wants loyalty and reverend courtesy. 

KING HENRY. 

Now, wise justiciary, observe this priest ! 
Justice shall waken ; so beware, sir priest ! 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Now, wise justiciary, observe this King ! 

SIR RICHARD. 

All observation now finds cause for grief. 

KI^G HENRY. 

Thy Romish father on me pours, like hail, 
His hot anathemas ; with legate's aid 
Sustains the evil, and destroys the good, 



THE VATICAN. 



Until the very law has no effect. 
He all the orders of my people scans, — 
Poising in papal scales, with partial weights, 
Or king or citizen 'gainst pamper'd priest ; 
Calling that priest all sacred, holy, pure, 
Who is within like whited sepulchre, — 
Black as thick midnight, with pollutions foul. 

SIR RICHARD. 

Our monarch will thee, holy Primate, meet. 
My lord, one hundred murders — ^aye, and more ! — 
Have been to holy men, so called, traced, ' 

KING HENRY. 

So called, but in their deeds most wicked, vile ! 

ARCHBISHOP. 

So called, Good king ! yes, once good king, I say. 

KING HENRY. 

I make an end ; which is, This little isle 
Has sides too near for such a priest and kings. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Is, then, Toulouse by thee forgot, and all 
My services in France ? 

KING HENRY. 

'Tis bad repute 
For all I love, that cowl and lance should tilt 
So near ; it is unwholesome and forbid. — 
Justiciary, please take account of this: — 
E'en this of treason tastes. 

SIR RICHARD. 

My Lord, thy grace 
Must hear and answer far less boastingly 
The charges which I last transmitted thee. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

I owe thee nought, my liege ; and that thou know'st 

KING HENRY. 

Go ! go ! and fleece thy Merton healthful flocks ; 
And all the tithe I ask is fealty. 
Prepare to answer what I charge to thee, 



110 



THE SPIEIT OF 



And pay to our exchequer promptly, priest. 
No longer urge such slanders on my fame. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Alas ! thou King ! I served thee much. This hand, 
I now extend to heaven, has ne'er thee wronged ; 
Nor from thee riven aught of earth that had 
Thy love — nor aught in heaven. And can'st thou dash 
Thy knightly foot on venerated things, 
To form example for the vulgar swains, 
Who learn to hate the holy Church of Rome ? 

KING HENRY. 

I will not thus be poised or catechised. 
Be pithy to the idle wind ! Away — 
Such divination I've no mind to hear. 

SIR RICHARD. 

Your grace of wisdom, as of love, has need. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Thy wisdom has no ray of love. 

KING HENRY. 

Enough ! 

The measure of thy insolence is full. — 
And now begins the worst of civil wars. 
England and I 'gainst thee and Rome. Try now 
Your best; and let the Pope send forth his bulls. 
'Tis doomed eternally that one of us 
Shall perish in this combat. To the death 
I thee defy. And as Athletes fierce, 
We need no artful means, but madly fall 
Into each other's arms; and then I'll tear 
The puny skin which hides the traitor's blood. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Shall all the storied services, though past, 
Be counted nought in this account ? 'Tis sad ! 

KING HENRY. 

True honour ever takes account of all 
Which is, or was, or ever may be known. 



THE VATICAN. 



Ill 



ARCHBISHOP. 

Thou sovereign of these realms, now mark my words ! 
Thou art not just ; and I dare tell thee so. 
Though thou art King of England, yet e'en thou 
Shalt hear. I have another king, whose line 
Did royal sceptres wield o'er wide domains 
Ere thy poor ancestors had name, or lands, 
Or home. That king I serve ; that king I love. 
But thou — 

KING HENRY. 

'Tis treason ! What king dost thou mean ? 
Now light before me darts, and shews me gulfs, 
And many broken ways, and straits, o'er which 
Thou wouldst have urged thy lord, thy generous king ! 
I see thy Roman faith is a rank weed, 
Which chokes all honesty, and makes thee vile. 
I see ! To-morrow's hour shall prove (I see) 
Those whom I hate, and those I love. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Poor king ! 

Poor king ! to-morrow cannot come too soon ! 

[Archbishop leaves, 

SIR RICHARD. 

And now the Primate has withdrawn, perhaps 
My liege will meditate what course to take, 
And how rebellious subjects we may quell. 

KING HENRY. 

There's much in all thou now hast said ; but yet 
My subjects little know or think how far 
Above their kindly love a king must dare 
To live. High on a precipice he stands, 
Severed from all : [Pauses. 

Exposed to e'en the storm 
Which scares the woodman to his sheltering hut, 
Where crackling furze, sparkling on kindred eyes, 
Makes home. No safety from assassin's steel, 
Or brigands vile, belongs to him who leans 
Upon a throne. Alas ! no friend has he 
To explicate his best intent; awhile 
He halts, bay'd by the vilest of his kind, 
Who hunts his noble spirit out of pace, 
As Leo in the Etrurian shades expires, 



112 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Dashing his tail upon his gory sides. 

His roaring voice as sylvan thunder sounds, 

Makes timid echo spring from many a glade ; 

Whilst the coarse huntsman rends his flowing mane, 

And angry curs assail his noble brow. 

At last, in desperation dire, he bounds — 

In madness bounds — and, with convulsive leap, 

He seeks revenge on those who seek his blood. 

archbishop [turns back through the open door.'] 
My liege, true pride will guard true royalty 
From cunning slander's rage ; and bid it wear 
The lofty graces of a king, as one 
Of Christ's anointed, — high — high up 
Above the common hireling's reach. — But say, 
What evil have I done ? Absolve my name. 

KING HENRY. 

Ah ! thou hast done thy very worst, sir priest ; 
So hence ! away ! 

Scene II. — In the Court Yard of Palace. 

Two Courtiers; one an Italian Priest, the other a 
Crusading Knight. 

KNIGHT. 

If we might listen to this sad debate, 
Perhaps t' would teach our consciences in wit ; 
For priests have wond'rous use of placita. 

PRIEST. 

Good knight, I sorrow much ; 'tis very sad 
To see this land so foul with heresies. 
No Catholic, who truly loves his Church, 
May trust his ear in such affrays ; indeed 
The King will suffer heavy penalties, 
And holy Rome will be a furnace hot, 
Where cardinals will as refiners sit, 
Until our liege's pride does shrink and fade, 
As some poor pale and squalid artisan's. 

KNIGHT. 

Ah ! sir, ye priests mistake Plantagenet : 
The Second Henry has no fear of Rome. 



THE VATICAN. 



PRIEST. 

No king on earth has power except from Rome ; 
And soon, Sir Ralph, that voice, as thunders loud, 
Will echo fierce in royal palaces. 
Soon will this nation stand in interdict ; 
And then the sacraments of every kind 
Will be withheld from every English born ; 
And then the very dead will want a grave ; 
The King will be an outcast, and the crown 
Will be transferred to some more hopeful son — 
To France, or Spain, or Portugal's young heir. 

KNIGHT. 

The proud A'Becket's ire may bathe in blood, 
Ere that mad fire is quenched. Alas ! alas ! 
Yet that bright liberty which Saxons love 
Shall come and spread her universal joy 
In many a noble heart. As when we've watch'd 
The last and lingering breeze of niglit retire, 
Whilst at the eastern gate Aurora waits : 
Though piteous tears bedim her lucid eyes, 
As though she sighed to leave Tithonus' arms, 
Yet on that day proud Phoebus wears a crown 
More lustrous far than all the stars of heav'n ; 
And at his altar every knee then bows. 
He's god of light, and life, and loveliness ! 
So England from a sea of blood shall rise, 
Arrayed in awful majesty ; her locks 
Glist'ning with gore, yet, as an angel freed, 
She plants her footsteps on this trembling world. 

PRIEST. 

Alas ! this King wants grace ! Woe upon woe, 
Brought on this land by royal heresy, 
Now cries aloud to Rome for special aid. 

KNIGHT. 

Silent and sure the awful process is, 
Which forms that power which rules all Christendom 
Kings are deposed, and martial men made dumb ; 
Whilst cruel torture and imprisonment 
Waylay the honest citizen and humble serf; 
Their lovely daughters fill the convent cells, 
To slake the lusts of impious hypocrites. 

i 



114 



THE SPIRIT OF 



PRIEST. 

The mirthful Gollias has ventur'd much, — 
But, my good friend, thou must be more discreet ; 
Thy sword will help thee nought against the Church. 
Come, let thy valour and discretion too 
Preserve their owner from a mightier foe 
Than fields of blood or stormed castles yield. 
I could pronounce thee heretic, Sir Ralph ! 

KNIGHT 

That breast, which has no love for common life, 
Can fear no common death, but dares the worst. 
Within this soul, a fire illumes its walls, 
And all its mystic elements, which neither man 
Nor fiend can e'er put out: — 'tis holy fire — 
'Tis fed by heavenly hands — eternal fire ! 
No priest or Pope dare stamp upon its flame. 
'T will burn through ages yet, when lisping tongues 
And stammering Popes are silent in their graves. 

PRIEST. 

These words but ill assort with that bright cross 
Which marks thy holy name, " Crusader Knight V* 

KNIGHT. 

Ah! priest, thou little know'st, — and time is short. 
Another time we may descant on holy things, — 
Of dull and outward rites, and inward grace, 
And signs and forms, and ceremonial guise — 
But farewell now. — Here comes the magnate priest. 

PRIEST. 

Now may the Cross he bears direct his path ! 

KNIGHT. 

And fair humility cast all her beams 
On one, whose love of earth may cost e'en heav'n ! 
Farewell ! 

PRIEST. 

Let us stand back awhile. 

KNIGHT. 

Farewell ! 



THE VATICAN. 



115 



Scene III. — A Chamber in the Palace. 

Enter Archbishop alone, bowing before the images of the 
Virgin and Saints. 
And does a Judgment- day attend the steps 
Of some, ev'n in this world, and closely press 
Upon the heel of crime ; whilst yet with some 
Their sins are suffered to accumulate, — 
And then a retribution fierce pays all 
At one fell swoop ? — I, who have sown the wind, 
Must the dread whirlwind reap. The heavy storms 
Which I in time's perspective clearly see, 
Would now bewilder me ; but that J know 
There is a quiet haven for my soul, 
Where she will ride at peaceful anchor safe ; 
Protected by that Everlasting One, 
Who bids the storm be dumb, and cleaves the sea. 
Yet, as a faithful soldier of the Cross, 
I must awhile be militant. Sweet saints ! 
O Mary ! grant me patience to endure, 
That I may win the crown ; and waging war 
Against the haughty world, keep in my eye 
The heavenly vision bright. There, there, I see 
" The great white throne," and by it dazzling stand 
Adoring hosts of saints we lov'd on earth, 
With radiant robes and glittering pinions stretched 
For heavenly circuit. See ! they come to break 
These chains, which bind my fluttering soul to earth ; 
Soon will the world, and all its vanities, 
Fade, as a leaf, in death. 'Tis then the soul 
Enters within the veil ! 'Tis then she hears 
The Spirit and the Bride inviting say — 
"Partake the eternal supper of the Lamb. 
Return, thou weary prodigal, return : 
The bounteous table is already spread." 
*Tis then the soul, from every trammel freed, 
By no such tedious grades as mark on earth 
Its slow development, triumphant rides 
On light unwearied wing, and roams at will 
Through all the ethereal heights and baseless depths 
Of knowledge spiritual and infinite ; 
Where timid faith gives place to certainty, 

i 2 



116 



THE SPIRIT OF 



And hope is whelmed and lost in constant love. 

Nay, nay, fell Death! thy fierce and ghastly looks 

I heed not ; though thy fleshless finger point 

To the dark silent vault, reminding me, 

That all this strength and mortal might I own, 

Whose prowess Gallia's proudest knights have owned, 

Shall passive lie, and not a muscle move 

To toss aside the slimy worm, that crawls 

And feeds on the putrescent flesh. 

Such triumph thou art welcome to; but me, 

My real self, thou canst not touch. Tyrant ! 

This mortal soon shall immortality 

Put on : then, where's thy boasted victory ? 

Scene IV. — A Convent, 
Abbess, Julia a Nun, a Priest, and another Nun,. 

JULIA. 

Ah, yes ! and we must wait, believing all; 
For we are pilgrims, trembling on our way : 
"We see but faintly here that holy light, 
Whose bright intensity enwraps the throne 
Of the Eternal One ; while holy saints 
Bask in the dazzling blaze, from which a ray 
Reflected by fair Mercy's polished wing 
Reaches our sluggish earth to point the way 
To peace. 

ABBESS. 

The priests direct the way to peace ; 
'Tis thus our Church declares. 

JULIA. 

Mysterious ! 

ABBESS. 

Mysterious ! 

JULIA. 

Man — all — is mystery ; 
E'en man endow'd with grace from Heaven — 
With dignity, the image of his God- 
In him a spirit holds his awful court, 
Calling the various passions to account — 
Pacing his lofty halls, revolving vast 
And infinite idealities. 'Tis oft 
It mounts its high ethereal towers, piercing 



THE VATICAN. 



117 



All space which hides pure Heaven from man ! Tis then 

It hears a voice which rends the ethereal bounds ! 

Ten thousand voices join that mystic song — 

" The lust of life shall quickly pass away ; 

The brightest seraphim shall draw aside 

That veil which hides the unseen world from man, 

Whilst angels tear from deepest ocean's bed, 

As in the twinkling of an eye, all sins." 

ABBESS. 

All sins ! Your voice alarms me, J ulia. 
What frightens you ? 

JULIA. 

[Much alarmed, and rising up. 
There ! there ! I see — I see 
That grisly thing ! 'tis horrible to see ! 
Would now that I were blind. But ah, 'tis mine — 
'Tis mine ! I have the power to tear this skin, 
And pluck these eyeballs from their sockets forth. 

[Julia puts her face in her hands, and faints ; 
the Abbess slides out,- the Priest stayicls 
behind at a distance ; Julia somewhat recovers. 
Yes ! — ah ! — I dreamt the Abbess sat just here, 
And that I saw the wicked, evil priest 
That first I met at the confessional ; 
Who told me that my eyes were glistening stars, 
And that he loved me more than sacred things ; 
And spoke with blasph'mous tongue of holy saints, 
And said the Virgin's eyes were dull to mine, 
And wrung my hands within his greedy palms, 

[Looks round, sees Priest approaching ; screams. 
O Heaven, in pity hear my woful sigh ! 
Oh ! place thy tender arms around my soul 9 
And guard thy temple from foul violence. 
Anguish! — I wake! Awful ! — Heaven ! Heaven! — helpless! 
Oh ! hide me from that wicked, impious priest. 

[Julia points to a corner of the room. 

priest, [aside.] 
Perfection, there ! that form ! those wavy locks 
Now lie upon that tossing breast — so soft, 
It steals the sweetest of all worship — love ! 
And blushes too ! My soul exults ! Such, eyes ! 



118 



THE SPIRIT OF 



They ope, as from a cloud the god of day 
On burnished helms with virgin splendour glows ! 
The dainty dew — soft tears — they yield their aid, 
To give my panting heart a feast so sweet. 

[Approaches Julia. 

JULIA. 

Sir priest, stand back ! Is this thy faith to Rome ? 
Stand back, sir priest ! see this — see this — vile monk ! 

[Shews him a dagger. 

PRIEST. 

Sweet maid, thou must not mourn away this eve, 
Whilst many a happy nun sings cheerily ; 
And cardinals who tend about the throne, 
And merry monks who revel in Castile, 
Enjoy their happy hours in beauty's arms, — 
Leaving no pious duty quite undone. 

JULIA. 

[Struggling with her feelings. 
Sir priest, this work lies far beyond the hand 
Of common villany, — 'tis cowardice 
And lust, which give you impudence. 
Monk — priest — whatever is your name — beware ! 
My sire has set a guard to watch thy steps ; 

[ Wafts the dagger to and fro. 
And gave me this to keep my honour safe, 
From foul corrupting things as thou. See here ! 
But for the other world, thy life should pay 
This wrong. The Church shall know thy black designs. 

PRIEST. 

The Church will ne'er believe thy lonely voice. 
Such tales offend the Church. Put down that blade : 
The Church will take account of this dark sin. 

JULIA. 

The Church I lov'd, and vow'd so long to love — 
To love, that I might rest from troubled time, 
And steep my care-fraught heart in that soft stream 
Which flows exhaustless from bright Mercy's fount — 
May e'en be false as thee, abandoned priest ! 
The Church I sought, as I was taught to seek, 
For peace — as in a tomb so consecrate, 
That not a hand of flesh should ever dare 
To raise the veil which hides this wasting frame — 



THE VATICAN. 



119 



May close its arms ; but Heaven is open, free — 
My home, my refuge from thy villany. 
Sir Priest, begone — -I cannot bear thy looks : 
I'll dash into thine eye this liquid flame, 
And stop those inlets to thy lustful brain. 
See here this smoking fire, my second aid ! 

[Julia, frantic, opens a vial which smokes. Priest 
starts back. Julia approaches him. 

PRIEST. 

Thou wily elf, I'll call up Death himself 
To press thy polished breast. 

JULIA. 

E'en Death will laugh 
To scorn a fiend so base and lost as thou. 

PRIEST. 

The power to raise e'en hell is mine, e'en now. 

[The Priest shouts and stamps, laughing hideously. 
Julia turns pale, and faints. A person dis- 
guised sings with hoarse voice. 
"I'm one of the fiends that dimly sweep, 
Scaling up from the dreary deep, 
Where Horror, like a wind, 
Leaves carnage and woe behind ; 
And mutters some frantic yell 
As it clutches the bars of hell. 
I come as a loathsome cloud 
In a wet and putrid shroud. 
Who calls me from my lair ? 
Is this my bride — my fair ? " 

[Room darkens with smoke, §c. ; great noise and 
confusion. 



Scene V. — King Henry alone, just before going to the 
Council-room. 

Some supernatural and evil powers 
O'errule these times : — some spirit eminent 
In wrath protects perhaps this stubborn priest. 
It claims, howe'er, our joy and gratitude, 
That this rebellious potent criminal 



120 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Has been in form and order due arraigned. 

Perhaps a pine so lofty, by its fall, 

May fright the thousand hinds he long has held 

In superstition's blindfold vassalage : 

Some vigilance, therefore, may needful be. 

Yet spies are not fit ministers for kings, 

But rather are usurping tyrant's tools. 

Can Henry then his enemy waylay ? 

No ! no! — perish the thought! — To reign in peace 

I ne'er can hope, or pray, or strive. Abroad — 

Within — without — is war ; nought now but war. 

My blood against my blood is leagued — my bones 

Against my bones, all recreant — my life 

Against my life. Alas ! why did I fan 

A quarrel with this haughty priest, and thus 

Sad judgments bring upon my fellow-men ? 

But let us to such gloomy thoughts give truce, 

And for the approaching council clear our brow. 



Scene VI. — Council Room. Archbishop before King, 
and Bishops and Barons. 

KING HENRY. 

Ye fond companions of my weary wars, — 
Ye who have lived in camps, may well attend 
This solemn senate ; — whilst our bishops, priests, 
And lords, will add their faithful aid. This priest 
Has 'wearied us, and much our woes augments. 
Wise Winchester advice has proffered here ; 
But let your sentence be unanimous, 
And bear the seals of all. 

BISHOP OF LONDON. 

We are not loth, 
My liege, to pass a sentence moderate ; 
But of such judgments we have not the right 
Or honour. This for laymen is, whose tongues 
Are moulded for the judgment, and whose hands 
Do itch for execution prompt. 

KING HENRY. 

These times 

Need this. Ye priests, who should your office know, 



THE VATICAN. 



Let not perverse delay, or want of zeal, 
The virtue of obedience destroy. 

BISHOP OF HEREFORD. 

We are but servitors of peace, and want 

Those sinews powerful which gain respect 

For laws. The Primate's sins surprise the Church. 

KING HENRY. 

Now list. Wise Winchester, to you I look ; 
For well I know your fealty is proud, 
And eminently prompt. 

WINCHESTER. 

Standing in midst 
Of might, and love, and wisdom, well combin'd, 
With full permission of my King, I raise 
My humble voice ; nor fear I partial ears, 
Or blear-eyed prejudice that waylays truth. 
The sentence we decree is free alike 
From vengeance or severity. The King 
Sets confiscating seal on all the goods 
The Primate holds : and by his countenance 
I see the prelate to this sentence yields. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

'Tis true I would not clench these earthly things 
All I resign ; but my soul's rights remain 
The same. Above this royal violence 
They soar ; and from their course ethereal 
Such wrongs with indignation they regard, 
As insults to the faithful and the Church. 

KING HENRY. 

Rule well that flimsy monarchy ! Rage on, 
And thy aerial kingdom rule aloft ! 
Whilst I, below, with ruling England's sons 
Will rest content. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

But first the greatest slave, 
Thyself, redeem ; o'erruled by false conceits, 
Which, like foul noxious weed, entwine 
Around thy nature, and destroy that grace 
Which held so high a stature in this world. 



122 



THE SPIRIT OF 



ROGER, ARCHB. OF YORK. 

Sage father, less litigious be. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Peace ! peace ! 
Thou evil one ! I spoke to the King, not thee. 
It were to step to ignominy low, 
To bandy words with thee. 

BISHOP OF LONDON. 

My much loved Liege, 
How plausible soe'er this deed may seem, 
Take heed of gathering storms. You now cast forth 
Great treasure to the waves. The Primate's fall 
Is Henry's bane ; and this a lowering sky 
Predicts. 

KING HENRY. 

Sir Priest, necessity is paramount. 
My kingdom is a bark distressed at sea : 
And her to save, I know no right nor worth 
In cumbrous treasure ; but will cast it forth 
As a polluted and polluting corse. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

'Tis thus the timid toss away the stores 
Of learning, costlier far than Ophir's gold ! 
Yet scarcely save themselves with all this loss ; 
But in the great accounting, even they 
Will need soft Mercy's touching plea. 

KING HENRY. 

What then ? 
Kings are responsible to none on earth : 
And every papal satellite I see 
Shall own this doctrine true, or glare no more 
In this my kingdom. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

This royalty is overwrought, 
And most ungratefully forgets the power 
On which its being hangs. Poor prodigal ! 
'Tis well indeed, on thy poor soul's behalf, 
That this French war, and the rebellious bands 
Led on by Geoffrey, ingrate as he is, 



THE VATICAN. 



123 



Are sent to scourge thy pride with scorpion stings, 

And teach thee lessons of humility. — 

I leave you, Henry, now, attended well 

By holy and thrice valiant courtiers all — 

Roger of York, deceitful Chichester, 

Sir Richard, and the whining Leicester ! Yes ! 

I leave you all, wise counsellors, to aid 

Your sceptred chief. My eye is now weighed down 

With this assault of broils. Yet, valiant King, 

Thy knee shall bow, until its surface vie 

In hardness with thy unjust, stony heart. 

[Archbishop retires into another apartment. 

KING HENRY. 

These sons of Rome to all will faithless prove, 
Though servile to us now. 

SIR RICHARD. 

These saints at all times act as dictated ; 
And, as automata, their moves are made 
By wily hand most artfully concealed. 
As locust-swarms, they darken and affright 
The land, on every healthful viand feed, 
And the whole atmosphere corrupt. Alas ! 
What hideous sight it is, and sad, to see 
A fair dominion heaving qualms for life, 
With such base vampires lying on its breast ! 

KING HENRY. 

Therefore, good justice, as I prize my peace, 
My inward peace, above all pomp or fame, 
I will with all my soul and power expel 
This vain and haughty priest. 

SIR RICHARD. 

He comes. 

E'en the Archfiend himself returns — he comes. 

[Archbishop returns through the open door. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

To warn you of your sins and heresies. 

KING HENRY. 

Ye choke the course of justice, and allow 

Vile murder to remain unpunished. 

In civil things ye have no right to judge. 



124 



THE SPIRIT OF 



ARCHBISHOP. 

Oh! know ye not that we shall angels judge, — 
Yes, and archangels too ? Then are we not 
To judge these smaller matters of this earth ? 

KING HENRY. 

The king of hell himself does thee instruct 
In this perversion of God's righteous word. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

I say again, O king, thy reign and power 
Are earthly both. — I say again — 

KING HENRY. 

Beware ! 

For thy rebellious acts shall cost thy Church 
Coffers of gold and tribulation dire. 

archbishop, [aside.'] 
Oh ! now for wings to scorn the rolling seas, 
And cut the distance short 'twixt this and Rome 

KING HENRY. 

What mutters now the priest ? 

ARCHBISHOP. 

That we enough 
Of converse here have held ; for, as you say, 
This island is too small for th' exercise 
Of royal rancour. — 

KING HENRY. 

And the insolence 

Of braggart priests. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

My liege, I leave thee now 
To study style and kingly emphasis. 



THE VATICAN. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. — Archbishop's Palace. Archbishop 
Apartment. 

Enter Herbert de Boseham, Secretary. 
boseham. 

My honored lord, a stranger audience asks. 

archbishop. 
Admit him instantly. 

Enter Chichester. 

CHICHESTER. 

Your grace I seek. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

You come with messages from royalty ? 
Too late. For by this very post I write 
To Rome, that Henry be forthwith deposed, 
And humbled to the dust ; — that interdict 
Be sent from holy Rome. 

CHICHESTER. 

Vex not thy mind 
On such account ; for 'gainst the proudest king 
Rome has a shelter supereminent, 
Which neither power of king nor court can reach. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Yes, yes ! It is to Rome that I appeal, 
And to the great protector there ; who can, 
As God's vicegerent, when he will, allay 
All earthly differences of men and kings ; 
And in this faith and confidence, I pledge 
My life, my everlasting life. Farewell ! 

CHICHESTER. 

'Tis yet my duty to remind your grace, 
That still extant the oath of Clarendon 
Remains in august might, and challenges 
Your fealty unto this King. It speaks 
With eloquence all-powerful, having 
Consent of all our Church. 



126 



THE SPIRIT OF 



ARCHBISHOP. 

'Tis eloquence 
That virtue wants. A moment's patience have, 
Whilst I will explicate. These signatures 
And seals were wrong initio ; and so 
Will ever be. 

CHICHESTER. 

But may we violate 
An oath we swore with dread solemnity ? 

AfRCHBISHOP. 

That oath was sacerdotal ; but of things 
Episcopal, which oft are intricate, 
The Father of our holy Church alone 
Can judge. 

CHICHESTER. 

But ev'n the Pope gave his consent. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Yes ; but in terms which were equivocal, 
With mental reservations, that did leave 
Him free to act as policy should point. 

CHICHESTER. 

And yet, my lord, the oath is registered 
In Heaven's high archives. And can we regard 
This oath as null and void, or never made ? 

ARCHBISHOP. 

'Tis prejudice ! Wise Chichester, forbear. 
I will again remind you, I appeal 
To one who never yet has erred — yes, one, 
Before whose footstool every heart shall bow ; 
Where mighty kings, and people of all climes, 
Shall ever strive to reach some abject p]ace 
For their humility. 'Tis there my cause 
Doth lie. Now leave — now leave me, Chichester. 

CHICHESTER. 

Must I then leave thee, Father ? Must my tongue 
Be true to this fell message to our King ? 



THE VATICAN. 



127 



ARCHBISHOP. 

No more, save Fare thee well ! 
So, using wholesome speed, good Chichester, 
Thy once great master tell, that every lance 
His vaunting hand shall cast, with swift recoil 
Shall turn its glittering point upon himself; 
And e'en his chained mail, and all his host 
Of fiery knights, shall no protection prove 
Against the ire of Rome's omnipotence. 

CHICHESTER. 

God bless thee, holy Primate ! fare thee well ! 
The Pope has granted Ireland to our King, 
On terms that England's arms shall aid the Pope, 
Who longs to claim from Erin's million sons 
The Peter-pence. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Ah well ! Well, well ! Farewell ! 

Scene II. — Council Chamber. 

King, Barons, Bishops of Winchester, Worcester, 
Salisbury, Hereford, London, Norwich, &c, 
waiting the Archbishop's reply. 

Enter Chichester, 
king henry. 
Thrice welcome, Chichester ! Welcome to all ! 

SIR RICHARD. 

Wise Chichester, the Primate's answer give. 

CHICHESTER. 

'Tis well ! thank Heaven, this leaden lip has power 
To move before my Liege, his barons bold, 
And learned justices ; yet 'tis with fear 
It yields the messsage that it brings. 

KING HENRY. 

What answer to the treason does he make ? 
Why comes he not in person to our Court, 
As in the Constitutions he did sign ? 
Hast thou reminded him of Clarendon ? 

CHICHESTER. 

I did, my liege. The learned Primate heard, 
And then, with curled lip, he did defy 



128 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Your Majesty to prove, by process due, 

The charge before his Holiness of Rome. 

And in his bitterness he said, he hoped 

The Church would quick and ample vengeance take 

Upon the ingrate King, for heresies 

Innum'rable and great. 

KING. 

Insulting priest ! Richard, attend me hence. 

[Makes a step, as if about to leave. 
I now will execute my will in spite * 
Of all considerations. 

SIR RICHARD. 

Yet, my liege, 

I pray you stay awhile. 

KING. 

And why ? why stay ? 
Shall I be passive as a trembling lamb, 
And let the beasts of Rome drink up my blood 
As pastime and festivity ? 

SIR RICHARD. 

Dear Liege ! 

KING. 

The time is come. 

SIR RICHARD. 

Oh, stay ! 

KING. 

Stay? stay? Ere this 
I could bestrew a heaped of mailed men 
In blood. Stay ? Ask the fiery Mameluke 
To curb his fretting steed, and stay his arm 
With vengeance strung ! ask him to stay ! Then mark 
The maniac glance that from his shrouded lid 
Quivers and gleams, when first he deigns to turn 
To listen whence that strange voice came ! Ask him 
To spare his trembling foe, and sheathe again 
That reeking blade, and his hot temples bathe 
In holy dew that lies on Mercy's brow ! 
Yes ! ask again, — and list his hoarse response, 
As issuing from some vaulted sepulchre ; 
And, as it passes o'er the perfumed clime 



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129 



Of Araby, it takes no fume of earth, 

Nor wakes one tuneful chord of sympathy. 

Hopeless it sounds — as death ; 'tis death to hope ; 

'Tis death in blood ; 'tis blood in death ; all death ! 

It is the angry voice of deepest hell ! 

Stay ? stay ? Such rage is mine, as erst possessed 

The rugged soul of Peleus' mighty son, 

When he proud Ilium encircled thrice, 

And tracked the triple path with Hector's gore. 

And hardly even then the hoary locks 

And rolling tears of Priam could prevail 

To ransom at high price the mangled corse, 

For holy funeral rites and honours due. 

Now see that he no messengers to Rome 
Transmits ! And yet I care not. Heed him not 
For me. I will with my own arm drive out 
This crafty minion of the Pope. 

CHICHESTER. 

He comes ! 

Archbishop enters, wearing a gorgeous dress, carrying a 
large golden cross. Bishops rise to meet him. 

SIR RICHARD. 

'Tis even so, my liege, he stands within, 
Prepared to answer. 

KING HENRY. 

[Affecting not to see A^Bechet. 
If he's here, I see 

Him not. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

The eye will often faithless prove, 
When evil darkness is preferred by kings. 

KING HENRY. 

Sir Richard, is the hateful priest away ? 
No — no — -for th' air is noxious, poisonous. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Thou royal dreamer ! thy indulgent priest, 
Thy holy father, hears with deepest grief 
Thy frowardness. 

K 



130 



THE SPIRIT OE 



KING HENRY. 

Thou scarlet hypocrite ! 
Say, didst thou not approve in formal terms, 
"With faith, without reserve, and without fraud," 
The Constitutions, sign'd at Clarendon, 
Which thou dost now abjure ? 

Norwich. [Aside to Salisbury. 
A question, this, 

To test the Primate's art ! 

KING HENRY. 

And think'st thou, priest, 
That perjury like this cries not to Heaven ? 
I do appeal to you, ye bishops all, 
Did he not take the oath he now abjures ? 

SEVERAL BISHOPS TOGETHER. 

He did. 

KING HENRY. 

Is this not perjury ? 

A FEW BISHOPS WITH FAINT VOICES. 

It is. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Tis not, ye half-learn'd dolts ! What ! know ye not 
That all those Constitutions were annulled, 
And we were then from all our oaths absolved, 
By one, far, far above earth's petty kings ? 
Yes ! one to whom the full authority 
To Peter given in one unbroken line 
Has been transmitted ; that whate'er on earth 
He should or bind or loose, the same in heaven 
Should stand all ratified ! 

Salisbury. [Aside to Norwich. 
All this is true. 
Well has he stood the test. Proud Wisdom sits 
Upon his brow, enthroned with eloquence. 

KING HENRY. 

Arch-hypocrite! Perversions such as these 
Of Holy Writ are Satan's wiliest lures. 



THE VATICAN. 



131 



Did not the Pope, who can, as thou pretend'st, 
Or bind or loose, himself give his consent ? 

ARCHBISHOP. 

His mind has never changed. Ever the same, 
He, like the sun, is fixed ; 'tis worldly men 
Who change, and then they charge this evil sin 
On one who never sinn'd. Vile heresy 
Forgets the true vicegerency of Heaven. 

KING HENRY. 

The principles of Rome might justify 
Theft, treason, murder, and the blackest crimes 
That wicked man or devil e'er devised ! 

ARCHBISHOP. 

The end, if good, does sanctify the means. 
Oft seeming hatred turns out purest love. 
The forked fire that stretches at man's feet 
A blackened corse, the form he doated on, 
Purges the air from exhalations foul 
That would depopulate earth's fairest climes. 
But 'tis in vain to talk : now anguish deep 
Spreads o'er my soul. God's peace be with you all. 
A soft internal voice oft whispers me 
That 1 shall fall by hand of violence, 
A victim to blind ignorance and hate ! 
Then shalt thou see as now thou seest not ; 
And this poor body, fed upon by worms, 
Shall far more reverence and respect receive 
Than in its pride of manliness and strength ! 
Then shall the curtain from thine eyes be drawn ; 
And, clad in sackcloth's penitential garb, 
Thou shalt make pilgrimage unto my tomb. 

Scene III. — Thames Bank, near the Temple Gardens. 

BAYNARD. 

Let's pull in here, just by this gloomy tree : 
'Twill hide the boat. Give me the slasher now. 

SIMMEL. 

The old monk said, there was no kind of fear ; 
k 2 



132 



THE SPIRIT OF 



But, Lord ! you never know what darkness brews ! 
I'll say no more just now : you know my mind. 
I've always called off this sad job, you know. 

BAYNARD. 

Come, Sim, now hold your serpentine fine stuff, 
Unless you want this fairy bird yourself. 
Come, come, hold up this chick, and tenderly, 
Or else you'll tear her downy feathers off. 

[Moans heard ; they raise a bag, 

SIMMEL. 

Come, lady fair, we now can prate no more : 
No more delay ! Now tlien ! 

BAYNARD. 

Come, Sim, hold on. 
I'll bring the darky. Quick ! let's make good speed, 
Or the big light of heaven will gape outright, 
And tempt some drowsy priest, who dreams of sack, 
To take the air, and wander in our path. 

[They take the bag, each holding one end. 

SIMMEL. 

I wish that evil priest, old Saul, was here ! 

[Looking into the bag. 
The tide is out of her ! She's struck — she's dead ! 

BAYNARD. 

I feared she was : she heaved so on her beam. 
Here's a cold calm ! 

SIMMEL. 

She seemed so giddy like. 

BAYNARD. 

Let's try to put her on her pins awhile : 
No \ see, she won't now answer to the helm. 

SIMMEL. 

The devil take that hoary land-lubber ! 
It is a crying shame for priests to sin, 
And then absolve themselves all clean again. 



THE VATICAN. 



133 



BAYNARD. 

If he was here, I'd chuck her in his claws, 
And clean his purse of all his golden coin. 

SIMMEL. 

I'll hold her chin, and slip her gags. — Poor thing ! 
But it 's all nothing now. I'm sure she 's dead. 

BAYNARD. 

I see she'll never 'arn us nothing now. 

[Splashing of oars heard, and boat seen with 
another man waiting, who sings with hoarse 
voice. 

" Where is the sea and its mighty power ? 

We will dance on its heaving breast : 
Let the sun shine, let the clouds lower, 

With whirlwinds from the west ; 
A sailor's life, or a sailor's death, 

Are all the same to me ; 
For I know, this fleeting breath 

Will last 'till eternity. 

" I saw Jack's ghost pass round the bow ; 

The thread of life in his hand. 
Says he, { Tom, here's a pretty go ! 

I've joined the pirates' band.' 
I beckoned him to wait awhile, — 

I threw the rope ten feet : 
He seemed to say, with a grogram smile, 

s Another day we'll meet.' " 

SIMMEL. 

Let's go ! Let's go ! I like not this rough job : 
She 's but a chick : — she 's fit for nothing now. 
The wily priest won't pay: he'll see she 's dead. 

BAYNARD. 

He shall, — or I will rip him up, Simmel. 
What say ? we'll jig her in the boat again. 

SIMMEL. 

Or leave her at the old Priest's door. — Let's go. 

BAYNARD. 

But first we'll scramble to the old hawk's nest, 
And bring away the gold ; then go : — that 's best. 



134 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Scene IV. — In Priest's Chamber. 
father saul [alone.~\ 

Then silence is a spirit too. Dumb Time ! 
Why dost thou lag, and beard me with dull thoughts ? 
Baynard is true — a pure, determined fiend ! 
When looking in his eyes, I see myself. — 
But stay, thou beating heart ! Does Simmel live ? 
Simmel — Baynard — both sound as vile, and yet — 
And yet — this Baynard said, he Simmel loved. 
Is Baynard murderer, or is he not ? — 
I did not like those strangers at Old Val's. 

The rustling winds rush in and out like fiends, 
And all around seems echoing sounds from hell ! 
Hark ! stay ! I hear some heavy steps. — Who comes ? 

\ Knocking heard. 

Who knocks ? 

BAYNARD. 

Baynard, the murderer ! 'Tis I. 

SAUL. 

Welcome — welcome, murderer ! 

BAYNARD. 

Gold! the gold! 

SAUL. 

But where's the nun ? 

BAYNARD. 

But where's the gold — the gold ? 
Come, priest, hand me the gold, and I — 

SAUL. 

And you — 

BAYNARD. 

Dost hear ? I want the gold. I came for that. 

SAUL. 

But where's the maid ? 

BAYNARD. 

Take off your lustful eyes, 
And give me all the gold you have ; and I — 



And you ? — 



SAUL. 



THE VATICAN. 



135 



BAYNARD. 

Why, priest, your colour comes and goes ! 

SAUL. 

I fear — [Puts his hand on his sword. 

BAYNARD. 

Is this a time for white-faced Fear ? 
You fear ! — whom — what ? Vile priest, you want my blood. 
Put up that sword, or I will drain thy veins 
Of that rank stream which makes that frantic rage, 
Which threatened e'en to seize me by my throat. 
Ah ! priest, see here the hired murderer ! 
Dost think to scare a wolf by bleating thus ? 
The blood of that poor gentleman now cries. 
Thou guilty priest — 

SAUL. 

[Approaches, drawing his sword. 
Baynard, I will end this. 
Passions have power and right to bait my soul, 
But no man lives who long shall frown on me. 
Yet thou hast dared — Take heed ! Baynard, take heed ! 
I may e'en yet give voice to fame — ill fame ! 
The Church has twisted springe for such as thee ! 

BAYNARD. 

False priest ! True hypocrite ! I fear them not. 
At hand is one who longs to glut his sword 
In thy thick blood. 

SAUL. 

You 're angry, Baynard. What ? 
Hast thou commission for my life, Baynard ] 
Be peaceful — sit — speak honestly, Baynard : 
You flurried me, good Baynard — sit awhile. 

[Sheaths his sword, 

BAYNARD. 

For you we murdered him, — then where's the gold ? 
Somehow I'll have the gold. 

SAUL. 

But where's the maid ? 

BAYNARD. 

In heav'n, I hope. 



136 



THE SPIRIT OF 



SAUL. 

You've murdered her ! 

BAYNARD. 

Tis false. 

She died with fear of seeing you again ; 
And well she might, poor soul ! 

SAUL. 

He's practising. [aside. 
Tush, man ! she's only couch'd in woman's guile. — 
Let me but have her, whatsoe'er she be. 

BAYNARD. 

Come, priest, let's have the gold, and then we'll talk ; 
And count the deaths you've caused, and laugh at this. 
Sim knows, she turned upon her beams, and died. 

SAUL. 

Was Simmel there ? I thought you said he died. 

BAYNARD. 

You wished him dead, and wished these blood-stained 
hands 

To smoke in old Sim's blood. Come, follow me ! 
I'll show you the poor nun — -perhaps alive. 
If dead, she died e'en since I left poor Sim. 

SAUL. 

Is Julia here ? — within my reach ? — What, here ? 

BAYNARD. 

Come, follow me ! 

[Many footsteps heard; lamp put out; Saul's 
voice heard. 

Baynard ! Away! Away! 



THE VATICAN. 



137 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. — On a Terrace of the Palace. 
King, Leicester, and Randolph. 

king henry [having a dejected air]. 
The nauseate presence of that haughty priest 
Has moved me much. And am I always thus 
To be besieged by agents of the Vatican ? 
A'Becket too ! 

RANDOLPH. 

Forget him, dearest Liege. 
It is not meet that pensiveness should cast 
Its clouds and shadows o'er thy noble brow. 
Let recreative action winnow off 
These gloomy thoughts, and bid the ruby blood 
Run joyant through kind nature's passages. 
May 't please your Majesty to hawk or hunt ? 

KING HENRY. 

Right well proposed. See now the risen orb 
Rides forth in full unshrouded majesty, 
To cheer the woodlands, and with lustre gild 
Umbrageous bowers, and all their charms expose. 

RANDOLPH. 

The lark too rises till he seems a speck ; 
He fills the air, though vast, with thrilling notes : 
'Tis his sweet matin song of happiness. 

KING HENRY. 

Now let the chase prepare. Let every plume 
Dance dalliant to the breeze ; and let the horn 
Send forth its full and mellow notes, till hill 
And valley weary to respond. 

LEICESTER. 

My Liege, 

All ready stand, and wait but your command, 



138 



THE SPIRIT OF 



KING HENRY. 

Bring us our steeds. 

RANDOLPH. 

They come, my gracious Liege. 

king henry [having mounted]. 
And now to Woodstock let us wend our way. 

[All ride off. 



Scene II. — Ditchley Wood 
Enter King Henry and Leicester. 

LEICESTER. 

My gracious Liege, indulge not gloomy thoughts. 
Thy condescension makes me bold to ask, 
Why 'tis thine eye has lost that brilliancy 
That used the gleaming cuirass to eclipse, 
When lit to dazzling by Apollo's beams. 

king henry. 
My summer now, dear Leicester, is far spent. 
'Tis neither burnished lance, nor love, nor lust, 
Can wake it from the dead. Once — once, indeed — 
And only once — I loved. Ah ! who can tell, 
When first the new-born infant opes it eye, 
And drinks the light of heaven, what mystic thrill 
Of joy extatic then from nerve to nerve, 
Through this of all the portals to the brain 
Most complicate, attends that rushing beam ! 
'Tis even thus with passion's first wild throb 
In noble hearts : 'tis indefinable ; 
And all we know is, that it gave a zest, 
An impetus unto the tide of life, 
That until then had sluggish been and dull. 
Oh ! tis a gift from Heaven ! and could it last, 
I could not wish for any higher heaven 
Than this bright trance of love. 

LEICESTER. 

Once, my good Lord, 

You loved. 



THE VATICAN. 



139 



KING HENRY. 

But ah! soon came the fiends from hell, 
Bringing their tainted precious things from thence, 
And, in arrangement, with much artful guise, 
They offered honour, power, wealth, and fame, 
Together with the shadowy form of love ! 
'Twas then I did my ardent spirit sell ; 
And now am patchwork, — an unreal thing, — 
And life is weary, flat, and profitless. 
I charge the Vatican with this foul sin, — 
It press'd me to that marriage which I hate. 

LEICESTER. 

Oh ! let not sorrow thus o'erwhelm your soul. 
The ruby stream which flows from holy Church 
Will purify all fallings off in kings ; 
And in thy treasury there is bright gold 
Which will absolve for every broken vow. 

KING HENRY. 

Leicester, these things do oft disturb my soul ! 
But I would be alone. To-morrow's noon 
Shall summon thee again ; till then, farewell. 

[Exit Leicester. 

king henry [walking in the wood.] 
Yes ! my dear Rosamond, I know the hour 
Fix'd by thy love, And in this wilderness, 
This weary, barren desert of my life, ^ 
That hour smiles forth a glad oasis bright, 
To cheer my soul, and give it impulse fresh 
To wander on unto my journey's end. 
Oh ! I can ne'er forget what thou hast done 
And sacrificed for me. The new-fledged swan 
Has not a plume in either wing so white, 
One half so purely white, as was thy soul, 
Thy virgin soul, when first thy trembling eyes 
Encountered mine with timid, furtive glance. 
Oh ! hadst thou been less chaste, less innocent, 
Thou wouldst not, in the world's misjudging eye, 
Now guilty seem, immodest, and unchaste. 
Ye matrons dignified — so active seen 
To play the coy, the amiable, to catch 
Some rich inheritor in Hymen's noose — 



140 



THE SPIRIT OE 



Sneer not, that Rosamond the Fair, my love, 

Has ne'er profaned, with false and falt'ring lips, 

The altar of her God with impious vows 

Of love and constancy, what time her heart 

Did to another secret homage pay ! 

To thee, dear Rosamond, I'll bend my steps ; 

Yes ! thy caresses ardent, fond, sincere, 

Shall banish every wrinkle from my brow, 

And light it up with cheerfulness and love. 

And yet the meddling monitor within 

Intrudes his whispering, unwelcome voice, 

That every visit to thy fairy bower 

Augments my long, long catalogue of sins. 

Well, well ! it boots not ! I have lands and wealth 

That would full absolution buy for sins. 

'Tis thus these priests pretend to lull the soul. 

In what a mesh the soul of man is placed ! 

Fiends aid the Fiend of hell. Those Romish priests ! 

They burrow far within, and soil the soul — 

That holy, beauteous thing, companion fond — 

That dove which mourns when cloudy sin appears ! — 

As some hoarse hawk springs on his prey, so they 

Wring from the soul its first, its holy love — 

And then Corruption desolates the whole. 

The Pope has sworn he can absolve my soul, 

And that he is the mighty Being's self, — 

And for the purse I gave permits this sin. 

I cannot stay this question to resolve : 

No ! my heart-strings are intertwined with thine, 

And they must snap e'er I can give thee up ! 

Yes ! I will hug this sin, if sin it be, 

And will prefer to die within thy arms — 

Thy beauteous arms ! — enfolding tenderly 

This rugged heart, than mount with unknown saints 

To heaven itself. — I would be just to all ; — 

But yet 'tis hard to heave on boisterous seas, 

And watch the tiny stars, whose glittering marks 

The lovely shore where Peace and Love preside, — 

And yet obey some strong internal power, 

That keeps us ever from the blissful spot ! — 

And is it thou, sweet Rosamond, that keeps 

That peaceful shore from me ? Must I resolve 

To give thee up, and to console myself 

By drawing from fond memory's stores 



THE VATICAN. 



Soft images of thy all-beauteous form ? 

Yes ! yes ! I see thee now ! Thine azure eye 

Floating in tenderness upon me beams ; 

Whilst ever and anon that auburn fringe 

Curtains its lustre, and gives kisses soft 

To the rich bloom that mantles on thy cheek ! 

A smile now sports around thy mouth, 

And bids thy ruby lips reluctant part, — ■ 

As opes the rosebud to Apollo's kiss ! 

And now those pencill'd brows begin to rise 

In playfulness, and grow more arch'd. See now, 

A glossy tress from its confinement strays, 

And rides upon that heaving breast, so calm ! 

Mary ! Virgin Mary ! I am lost. 

Ah, treacherous Fancy, thou dost fan to flame 
The very passion thou wast sought to cool ! 
I'll hold no longer parley with this thought ; 
But now I haste to thee, sweet Rosamond, 
Although the withered ghosts of all the Popes 
That Rome e'er owned should rise to bar my path ! 

Scene III. — An Apartment in the Labyrinth, 
Rosamond. Aba reading, 

ROSAMOND. 

Dear Aba, read no more. This history 
O'ercomes me, and awakes such painful throes, 
That at my very shadow I do start. 

ABA. 

Yes, lady dear ! the once-loved past is quick, 
And its impressions ineffaceable 
Do sometimes start before the astonished mind, 
After long years of slumbering. 

ROSAMOND. 

Oh yes ! 

1 know that many a thought long buried lies, 
And e'en forgotten, in the mind, until 

Some kindred thought strikes on its tomb, to which 
It wakes and quick responds ; — as my sweet harp, 
Untouched by hand, vibrates, when I do sing, 
To some concordant note most faithfully. 



142 



THE SPIRIT OF 



But oh ! the echoes from the past do all 
Breathe melancholy through the pensive soul — 
A drop of pleasure in a sea of pain ! 

ABA. 

Yes ! But that drop is of so potent taste, 
The mind is left in doubt which quality 
Is prevalent. But sometimes wringing pangs 
Are requisite to search and purify 
Young hearts. I'll bow before that sacred form, 
That holy Mother mild may grant us peace ; 
'Tis her fond will that we be sad awhile. 

ROSAMOND. 

Aba, thy words are true. My Aba dear ! 
I know this earthen vessel must be searched 
By woes, which her great hand alone can heal. 
And even now, whilst thus I speak, and pray 
Her heavenly aid, my wanton, pining heart 
Is far away, and close communion holds 
With him, its lord, its idol, angel, judge. 
Alas ! how difficult it is to wrap 
In darkness of oblivion all ! 

ABA. 

What! all 

In darkness, lady dear ? 

ROSAMOND. 

Yes ! Aba, all 
This heart has loved, and must, and ever will, 
And without which I die. Alas ! I fail ! 
Oh ! Aba, draw me back, — hold me, or else 
I fall again ! — No ! no ! I cannot fall 
Again ! So low and penitent am I, 
I can nor rise nor fall! Stay me awhile ; — 
I will not fall again. 

ABA. 

Fall ? Where!— Alas! 
Her eye is wild and wand'ring. 

ROSAMOND. 

Aba, dear, 

You must not stop me now. My poor, poor heart 



THE VATICAN. 



143 



Is on its wing ethereal : o'er hill 
And vale it flies ! Ah ! ah ! 

[She sighs deeply, passing her hand across her 
forehead. 

I'm better now. 
Excuse, O Aba, this distraction strange : 
I'm better now. I had a dream last night, 
I wish I had the power to tell at length 
Just now, as here we sit. 

ABA. 

What was your dream ? . 
Dear lady, tell me, pray. 

ROSAMOND. 

Methought, my dear, 
That I was sitting in this very room, 
Near to that open window ; when I heard 
The sound, as 'twere, of thousand rustling wings : 
And looking up, I saw descending fast 
A train of snow-white doves, and in the clouds, 
That seemed to part, a glittering car. And ere 
I could well say I was surprised, that car 
Was on the earth, e'en at my feet; and out 
There stept a form, that ne'er has been surpassed 
In earth or heaven ! Venus I instant knew* 
To me she came and whispered ; " Rosamond, 
My dear, come, haste ! I make thee Henry's own." 
The car we entered straight ; and Cupid, who, 
His well filled quiver o'er his shoulder flung, 
Did hold the reins, the signal gave. Away 
We flew. My heart did beat as rapidly 
As beat the air the snowy pinions light 
Of those sweet birds. Proud Hymen's fane we reached, 
Whose pompous dome, in marble pillars reared 
Of Doric order, did the sky invade. 
There, all prepared, the god awaited us, 
With Henry by his side ; whose lofty mien 
Such majesty bespoke, a stranger's eyes 
Could not have told which was the god, and which 
The human form, but for the torch in hand, 
And rosy crown that Hymen's brows adorned. 
Should I the beauties of the place describe, 
And the bright beings there — but these I leave. 



144 



THE SPIRIT OF 



The rites were nearly ended, and the ring 
Upon my finger placed, when suddenly 
A hoarse, unearthly, and demoniac laugh 
Was echoed by the temple's vaulted aisles ! 
I turned ; and lo ! for Venus' smiling face, 
Aba, I saw the harsh and pursed brow 
Of Eleanor. 

ABA. 

Oh, horrible ! 

ROSAMOND. 

Her eyes 

Flashed sparkling fire. When I looked to see 

Where Hymen, Cupid, and the King had been, 

Three forms, more horrible than tongue can name, 

Their place usurped : they were the Furies three ! 

There, Aba, stood they, black as the deep hell 

From which they came, whilst gleamed from ear to ear 

In contrast, their white teeth, when they did grin ! 

" Ha, ha! this is the bride !" shrieked Eleanor, — 

" Come, sweet, look at thy bridegroom, Rosamond !" 

And then she pointed to Sisiphone, 

Who in her bony hand a scorpion scourge 

Did hold. " Thou 'rt married now ! that ring declares ; 

But know, thou harlot rank, that ring shall be 

Thy death! Look, look!" I looked, but can I say? 

Aba, that ring of purest gold turned dark, 

And did increase in size a hundredfold ; 

Slowly it did uncurl, and a black asp 

Become, and putting forth its head — its eyes 

On fire — its ringed neck with venom swoln — 

It hissed most horribly ! The other snakes, 

That wreath'd the heads and arms of those dire nymphs 

Of hell, did quick respond ; until my brain 

With this loud hissing concert dizzy turned. 

ABA. 

Did not this hideous yell awaken you, 
Dear Rosamond ? 

ROSAMOND. 

No, no ! it was reserved 
For something far more dreadful still to burst 
The bands of sleep. 



THE VATICAN. 



145 



ABA. 

More dreadful still ? Methinks 
That nought more dreadful could, by man or fiend, 
Be e'er conceived. 

ROSAMOND. 

Ah, Aba, you shall hear. 
Seeing myself beset by monsters dire, 
I turned to flee ; but then Alecto fierce 
And stern Megara each did seize an arm. 
" Softly, my pretty one I" cried Eleanor, 
" I have a love-gift for thee ere thou go'st !" 
And holding up the asp, whose neck was now 
More bloated still, and inky black, she said — 
" See, see, the fruit is ripe ! its juice will cure 
All mortal lusts ;" when, griping fast my throat, 
Tisiphone my head pulled back ; and then, 
Compressing hard the struggling viper's neck, 
The Queen distilled the black and clotted filth 
Into my opened mouth ! I know no more : — 
Intensity of horror broke the spell, 
And morning's light upon my eyelids played. 
But even now I feel the viper cold, 
Slimy, and writhing 'gainst my cheek and neck ! 
Still do my ears with hideous hisses ring ! 
And oh ! I never shall forget its forked tongue, 
Spurting black venom — Pah ! 

ABA. 

Dear Rosamond, 
I have no words my horror to express ! 
I wonder not that you should seem distraught : 
Oh, what a dreadful dream ! 

ROSAMOND. 

Oh ! Aba dear ! 
I fear some evil in the womb of time 
Is near its birth. 

ABA. 

Oh ! think not so, my dear ! 
No, no ! ill dreams good fortune oft forerun, 
As heavy morning mists oft predicate 
A glowing day. Cheer up ! 

Rosamond [suddenly going to the tvindow, and pointing. 

Aba, my dear, 

L 



146 



THE SPIRIT OT 



Didst see that tall, majestic figure pass 
Through yonder glade ? 

ABA. 

Dear lady, where ? — where ? — where ? 

ROSAMOND. 

There ! see ! it moves ! 

ABA. 

'Tis but the flitting shade 
Of some dark-foliaged tree, whose arms are moved 
By evening's fitful breeze. 

ROSAMOND. 

You mock me so ! 
You never see as I do, dear ! 

ABA. 

That shade ! 

ROSAMOND. 

Shade, say you ? Look again : near that dark copse 
I see a god in earthly form appear ! 
Ye streams, I pray your rippling murmurs hush ! 
Ye rustling leaves, now stay your dalliance 
With the gay wanton winds ! And nature all 
Be mute, lest I should lose the melody 
Of his rich voice ! But now I see him not. 
Yet it was he ! I could not be deceived ! 

ABA. 

I would not thee offend, but, dear — 

ROSAMOND. 

Offend ! 

I think not that ; but, oh ! these gushing tears 
Are ominous of some approaching woe. 

aba [aside]. 

I did not like the dull confessor's tone, 
"When he proposed that I should write to Rome 
And intimate how oft the King is here. — 

Dear lady, change the scene. Let us go forth ; [aloud. 
It is the silent hour of eve you love. 

ROSAMOND. 

It is indeed a lovely night, and wins 
Sweet Contemplation to her pleasing task ; 
I '11 therefore forth alone ; for solitude 
Just now, methinks, will better soothe my soul. 



THE VATICAN. 



ABA. 

Well, well ! Yet go not far ; and may kind Heav'n 
Compose thy troubled mind ! 

ROSAMOND. 

Aba, farewell ! 
Say Paternosters for this breaking heart. 

[steps forth by moonlight 
How glorious is that richly gemmed sky ! 
See now that lingering band of silv'ry lights 
Break through the gloom of night, and seem like pearl, 
Tiny as sands, yet bright as sapphires shine ; 
And now Night's pale and lovely Queen 
Has thrown aside the mantling clouds that veiled 
Her beauty. Now from her azure throne she bids 
All nature homage pay. How peaceful* calm, 
And holy is her light ! How meek her brow ! 
Oh ! how unlike the proud and scornful eye 
That Henry's Queen would glance on Rosamond ! 
Yet could she see, within this breaking heart, 
The anguish festering round its heaving base, 
E'en she would feel soft Pity's tender touch. 
But this I seek not now ; but to myself 
And Heaven, in silent night's deep solitude, 
The pent-up sorrows of this aching heart 
Can I alone pour forth. There's mercy there, 
Which will not break the bruised reed. 'Tis there 
Contrition's prayer is ever heard, — 'tis heard 
For that contrition's sake. 'Tis even there 
Adoring seraphs stand, and midst are those 
Who out of tribulation came. Kind Heaven* 
Teach me some holy song of rhapsody* 
Such as the lips of choral cherubs chaunt ; 
Whilst golden harps resound in symphony, 
To hush the tumults of this aching heart, 
That else would burst. The golden gates of heaven t 
To enter there in direst penitence, 
All earthly comfort, pleasure, joy, or bliss, 
Yes, everything below, I'd sacrifice, 
At such rich price ! Yes, all — without reserve— - 
Except my Henry's love — all, all but this ! 
This — only this — I must retain. Alas ! 
I dare no longer pray : 'tis blasphemy ; 

L 2 



148 



THE SPIRIT OF 



For a divided heart ne'er entered heaven. 

The Spirit in that temple will not dwell 

Where but one sin, one cherished sin, remains. 

This eye I would pluck out — this hand cut off — 

And harder things I 'd do to merit heav'n ; 

But to resign my Henry's love would tear 

From out this heaving breast the heart itself ! 

Yes ! Henry dear, such is my hard, hard lot, — 

So intricate a web is wov'n by sin. 

Other alternative is not than this : 

Or thou, or heaven, must be resigned. Well, well I 

I pause not, Henry ; for without thy smile, 

The highest heav'n would be no heav'n to me 1 

I've purchased absolution for this sin: 

Until the Lammas-tide permission lasts, 

And then the Church shall have another fee — 

But not this ruby ring it ask'd of me ! 

Oh, Mary, mother ! chide me not again. 

The hour, the fleeting, blissful hour is near, 

My Henry did appoint for love's next trance.- — 

Now let me brush away these tell-tale tears, 

And fly, all smiles and blushes, to his arms ! 

[She returns. 

Scene IV. — An Apartment in the Palace at Woodstock. 

Eleonora and Isabella, a Spanish Lady, 
her Companion. 

ISABELLA. 

Oft of this story have you given me hints, 
But its particulars I only guess. 
Its odds and ends, and varied incidents— 
On these to hear your Majesty dilate, — 

ELEONORA. 

No, no ! the past 'tis useless to recall. 

ISABELLA. 

Oh ! say not so ; for Memory extracts 
The sting from bygone pain, and makes us feel 
A grateful pleasure that 'tis past and o'er ; 
Whilst Joy's fond retrospection often is, 
Though far less vivid, yet more calm and sweet 
Thau its bright, fleeting, transient presence was. 



THE VATICAN. 



149 



E'en thus, Apollo, when at evening tide 
He doffs the radiant glories of his brow, 
Presents soft beauties which his noontide blaze 
Denied the dazzled eye. For my own part, 
The past, the present, or the future — all 
Shall to my merry soul some pleasure yield. 

ELEONORA. 

I oft have named my love to Isabel — 
That love which can alone stamp worth on life. 
Those eyes I loved, are gazing now perhaps 
Intently on some chosen happy fair, 
Who little dreams or thinks that they have bent 
E'en on a princess proud, of Spanish birth — 
Before whose smiles two kingly plumes have bowed — 
Have bowed obsequious in their rivalry.* 
Louis, my husband first in time, did yield, 
In meanest attitude — the heartless wretch ! — 
Yielded this heart, which ne'er was his — base wretch ! 
And next came Henry — brave Plantagenet — 
Husband in form : — his heart is everywhere, — 
Means nothing by his smile or graceful step. 

ISABELLA. 

No home for all he feels, and hopes, and fears ? 

ELEONORA. 

I care not, Isabel ; my heart can rove — 
Ah ! may I say, my eye can glance afar, 
E'en to the sunny clime, where burning eyes 
Lit up that face whose heavenly form I loved. — 
Such luscious eyes I ne'er may see again ! 
We both were young. That flaming glance, which told 
The passion deep that glowed within his breast, 
Brightly attends me as I journey on 
Through the long wilderness of tedious life. 
Cheered by his smiles, the world with beauty shone ; 
But since, 'tis overcast with lowering clouds and gloom. 

ISABELLA. 

So long ago ? — Dear Queen, you should forget. 

ELEONORA. 

We cannot so controul the soul's delights, 
And bind up bursting, tender sympathies ; 
Which in their wild luxuriance help to make 



* See Appendix, XXL 



150 



THE SPIRIT OF 



That scenery our dear loved troubadours 

So oft describe with sweetest minstrelsy.* — 

But come! sing me a song, gay Isabel : 

That song the dark-eyed Emir made — sing that. 

Isabella [sings.] 
" Oh ! come to my side, thou form of all spell, 

Whilst I gaze on thy beauty, thou dark lovely 'Bel 
Thy soft tender voice, as the murmur, I love : 
It trembles on chords which make the soul move ; 
And then thy soft eye shines with radiance as clear 
As night's brightest star o'er the dark gondolier." 

ELEONORA.. 

Oh! Bel ! this wafts me back to happy hours. 

ISABELLA. 

What ! — Did you really love ? Miraculous ! 

ELEONORA. 

The mighty gallants of the day are chilled 
By war : — their love is of their steed, — their lance,— 
And divers other ornamental gear. 

ISABELLA. 

A girl may love — a child may love — but Queens ! 
I would not love for kingdoms ! I ? — what ? — love ? 
A woman love ? — Ha ! ha ! — strange things occur ! 

ELEONORA. 

Ah, Isabel ! thou know'st that bards concur 
Torepresent the light-wing'd god as blind, 
To indicate that he at random shoots, 
Without respect to rank or dignity. 
And I by dearly bought experience proved, — 
When, cased in armour of Damascus steel, 
As bold Antiope, a host I led,f — 
That there 's no earthly panoply that 's proof 
Against the little archer's darts. No — no — 
Resistless as the levin bolts they glide, 
And shake each nerve with strong convulsive force. 
How have I trembled neath their influence ! 

ISABELLA. 

Oh, bards are all proverbially mad ! 
And yet the witcheries of poesy 
Are sweet ; — and pleasant too it is love-tales 



* See Appendix XXII. | See Appendix XXIII. 



THE VATICAN. 



151 



To tell and hear ; but in plain, sober truth, 
Love and his votaries are fools ! Oh dear ! 
If ever Love, upon his rambles wide, 
Should stumble 'gainst my happy, merry heart, 
He 'd find it such a bounding, rampant thing, 
That he 'd be glad to take his wings in search 
Of tamer subjects for his yoke ; — and we 
Should never meet again, I frankly vow ! 
Such sport to see poor fools in love ! — to watch 
The tremblings which you notified ! — the sighs 
And faintings, often with cold sweats and chills, 
And lengthened respirations, when asleep ! — 
But stay,- — 'tis loss of time to paint a fool ! 
I love — thou lov'st — he loves — as meek as doves ! — 
Ha! ha! ha! ha! Dear Queen, how laughable ! 
We must not tell such tales to youthful lords, 
And bring on rheums and pallid sicknesses. 

ELEONORA. 

Dear Isabel, you are too humorous : 
I must not have sweet love so ridiculed. 

ISABELLA. 

Good Queen, I speak the truth, though thus jocose. 

ELEONORA. 

Ah ! Isabel, thou 'st waked, as from the dead, 
Those darker thoughts, that ever and anon 
Start up to check the buoyant laugh. 

ISABELLA. 

Dear Queen ! 

ELEONORA. 

Though traceless by the eye of England's King, 
Yet all the ocean's thousand angry waves 
Can ne'er efface those thoughts : — they're deathless here ! 
How long shall honied kisses pass, and pass, 
Between my Lord and mistress Rosamond ! 

Dear Bel, the Vatican has late declared 
Henry of England ingrate heretic. 
There is a secret I w r ould not tell now, 
Not e'en to thee, sweet Isabel. 

ISABELLA. 

Indeed ! 

ELEONORA. 

Why, yes — Indeed ! — What makes you stare so wide ? 



152 



THE SPIRIT OE 



Thou hast not seen the Pope's commissioner ? 

No ? Yes ? Now speak ! I see thou hast — say Yes. 

ISABELLA. 

I? 

ELEONORA. 

You ! — you have ! I see it in your eyes. 
Oh, if my hatred were not elsewhere fix'd — 

ISABELLA. 

Dear Queen, I do conjure you now, believe, 
I ne'er have seen the agent of the Pope. 
Never. 

ELEONORA. 

Not since he left for Rome ? 

ISABELLA. 

Never ! 

ELEONORA. 

Dear Isabel, I knew that well — I joked. — 
Yet in your eye there is a light ; I know 
A strange indictment written there — so clear 
And undeniably it stands — Never ? 
And yet I see I am betrayed and lost ; 
For thou hast heard my noisy dreams, I see. 
Now, Spaniard! give me back my thoughts — mere thoughts. 
Spaniard, beware ! — I may go mad e'en now. 
These hands may tear out eyes — may tear out hearts — 
And disembowel all thy cunning craft. 

ISABELLA. 

[Handing a beautiful dagger. 
Madam, here is a key to noble breasts, — 
This ornament may be my better friend. 
It was a plaything once, — a shining toy ; 
But, like that smile which better natures wear, 
Can form a frown rigid and cold as Death's. 
For years I've lov'd ; but I can hate thee more 
Than ere thou did'st the Spaniard hate just now. " 

ELEONORA. 

Come, Isabel ! dear Bel ! forgive me, dear ! 
You nothing heard? — no, never ? — no ? — never ? 
Come, let us smile ! — I'll tell thee all — yes, all. 
The Vatican has proffered me its aid. 

ISABELLA. 

For what ? 



THE VATICAN. 



153 



ELEONORA. 

For what ? — To bow proud Henry's knees, 
And help that mistress he so loves to heaven. 

[Holds up a purse of gold. 
And yet I know, through agencies like this, 
The Pope has now employed old Hugo's skill 
To weave me in a net, and catch my soul. 
But, silly priests ! I'll make them do my ends. 

Enter Hugo. 
El eon or a and Isabel, surprised, arise. 

ELEONORA. 

Here comes a pond'ring priest : from Rome he seems. 

HUGO. 

Your Majesty's most faithful servant bows. 

ELEONORA. 

Why is the holy father Hugo here ? 
Some statesman's haste, I fear, now brings thee, priest ? 

HUGO. 

The humble duty lies with me to hand 
This letter, just arrived from sacred Rome. 

ELEONORA. 

From Rome ? — from Rome, you say ? But I perceive 
Its superscription, Legate, is to thee. 

HUGO. 

Yet is the essence of my message there. 

ELEONORA. 

I see, I see ! There is some wrong within, 
Some threatening blow to fall on thy true Queen ; 
Which is so rank and vile in all its parts, 
That tongue so holy as a priest's prefers 
To dole this mighty gift of speech away, 
E'en to the parchment foul and fictious too. 

[Reads. 

Here is my lord the King, my royal lord 
Rejoining with his Holiness of Rome — 
On special matters of his state and fame — 
His tainted marriage with his Queen, he says. 
Come, priest, take heart and breath, and tell thy Queen. 



154 



THE SPIRIT OF 



HUGO. 

If I dared speak my feelings, noble Queen — 

ELEONORA. 

Ho, ho ! Without ! Ho ! Isabel, come in ! 
Here is a priest — a legate — laden here, 
Forsooth, with sighs and tender sympathies ! 

[Isabella comes through an open door. 

Isabella [aside.'] 
It is the Gather-purse— Hugo the Sly. 

[aloud. 

What, feelings in a priest ! — What of — and for — 
And to — and from — and whence — and what ? — ha, ha ! 

ELEONORA. 

The learned Hugo is weigh'd down with sighs ! 
I wish that Walter Mapes, old Gollias, 
Were here, to take a note of all the sighs 
That may escape the mighty Gather-purse ! 

ISABELLA. 

Say, solemn beadsman, what has brought thee here ? 

eleonora [aside.] 
I know these priests have many fancied wrongs, 
And agitating contests with my lord, 
Who thus makes foes without — within — with all. 

[aloud. 

But wherefore came you here, most reverend priest ? 

HUGO. 

Within my humble path I pace content, 
And thus I serve the holy see of Rome. 
I live and toil for sacred Rome alone ; — 
But would you know why I do this, great Queen ? — 
Then ask the seaman's course upon the deep : 
'Tvveen earth and heaven he fearless hangs in faith : 
He leaves his home — his land — and all he loves, 
And looks with fever'd, anxious eyes, intent, 
Through Time's long varied vista dark, and hopes 
That he may lay great countless treasure up 
In earthen vessels ; — I in heaven, great Queen. 
This is my faith — my hope — my joy — my aim. 



THE VATICAN. 



155 



ISABELLA. 

Listen awhile to me, most reverend priest. 
A willing, able, serving friend we want, 
Who, loving gold from glittering fingers given, 
Yields wisdom, which is given by Heaven to priests. 
Now dost thou see — or hear — or understand ? 
Dost fear the King ? Fear not ; he's far away. 

HUGO. 

Nothing I fear. 

ISABELLA. 

What ! nought on earth ? Not Rome ? 

HUGO. 

And nought in heaven ! There 's one in Rome I serve. 
I came to tell thee that thy lord the King 
Loves peace, and of thyself has spoken oft 
In terms of grace with highly favouring tone. 

eleonora. [Laughs satirically .] 
I am well favoured by your graceful grace ! 
Rut say what peace he loves — and tell the tone 
You mark'd so sweet. Good priest, what note was this ? 

HUGO, 

Yet still, my lady Queen, my business here — 

eleonora. 
If you to sound me of divorcement come, 
Why, then, I am invited hence awhile ; — 
Some other time. — I now go forth to meet — - 

HUGO. 

I go to seek his Majesty myself. 

ELEONORA. 

Tis well ! And when we meet again, Sir Priest, 
I trust thy rev'rend tongue will aid thee more. 
Dear Isabel ! — Dear Isabel ! — See — see ! 
Just then the King did pass the eastern porch : 
I now, perhaps, may trace his hasty step ; — 
And if occasion smile upon me now, 
I'll plunge this radiant blade where his false hand 
Oft strays, and spoil their am'rous play. 



156 



THE SPIRIT OF 



ISABELLA. 

[Stands between the door and Eleonora, 
Oh, stay! Dear Lady — Princess — stay! Dear Queen, 
Oh, stay ! — one moment stay ! — dear Queen, oh stay ! 

ELEONORA. 

What ! stay ? Oh, ask the boiling billow mad 
To stay and back upon its fellow's crest, — 
To ope its ear, and mute attention give 
To the exhausted swimmer's bubbling shriek, 
As, in despair and helpless solitude, 
Casting one glance upon the dreary waste, 
To its dark cemet'ry below he sinks. 

ISABELLA. 

Dear Lady, stay ! Sweet, noble Queen, oh, stay ! 
Stain not thy woman's hand in woman's blood ! 

ELEONORA. 

I say again, speak to the heaving waves, 
And ask the mightiest of that awful host 
To dissipate its power in tiny drops ; 
And, as refreshing dew, mark evening's hour 
Evaporating o'er the inland mead, 
There glistening on some tall and emerald spear, 
To make bright mirrors for the playful gnat, 
Ere she looks loving on her tuneful mate ! 
Yes ! ask that vaulting wave to stay awhile ! 
List to the answer wild : — "Without, within, 
I am a grave, — as Hades deep and dark ; 
And thus I swallow, in my angry jaws, 
The great, the beautiful, the wise, the good ; — 
The bridal blush in maiden innocence ; 
The prayer of kindred, wing'd for sacred home ; 
The conqueror's triumph, and the captive's groan : 
Grieved, unrequited Merit's stifled sigh ; 
The elbowing insolence of Conscious Wealth ; 
The gold of Ophir, and the chains of slaves ; 
The smile upon its way, the transient bliss ; — 
In me, with vile corrupting things, unseen 
They lie, — whilst I roll on my lonely way. 
'Tis thus I grind out of these mortal hearts 
The direst veneration dust can yield ! 
'Tis thus I make them bow in humid death, 
And cast their boasted honours at my feet !" 



THE VATICAN. 



157 



Just so I stop my ears to Isabel's 

Meek cries to stay me bounding on my way ! 

Vain are thy shrieks, thou petty, mortal thing ! 

ISABELLA. 

Dear Queen, Heav'n yet will show some better course. 

ELEONORA. 

Impede me not ! my vow is made with fiends I 
Hate is my guide ; and nothing else I'll heed 
Though Hell should watch my victim and myself ; 
'Tis now — 'tis now, my vengeance shall be quell'd 1 
I am absolv'd by all the Vatican. 
See here ! This little saffron scroll — 'tis this 
Dissolves the sin, and then absolves my soul. 

[ Goes out and picks up a silk skein, which traces 
to the Labyrinth. 



Scene V. — An Apartment in Labyrinth. 
King Henry and Rosamond. 

ROSAMOND. 

Oh ! did my Henry know how dark and drear 
His absence makes this soul, he would not leave 
His faithful Rosamond to count alone, 
With dull and idiot toil, the weary hours. 

KING HENRY. 

Dear Rosamond ! Philosophers do say, 
The heart is just a world in miniature. 

ROSAMOND. 

The world must then be very dark. 

KING HENRY. 

At times. — 

Ah, love, this world has kingdoms, empires, climes, 

Varying in power, in beauty, and extent ; 

O'er these are rulers, jealous of their rights, 

Who oft upon each other's provinces 

Wage war, and conquests make, till one at length 

Reigns paramount, — to whom the others bow, — 

Swear fealty. 'Tis thus within my heart : 



158 



THE SPIRIT OF 



There is a province brighter than the rest, 

That may for beauty with fair Tempe vie ; — 

'Tis here that Venus has a palace built ; 

And far within, exalted on a throne 

Set with ten thousand pearls, which Love's own hand 

Did choose, sits the fair empress of this world, 

The peerless Rosamond. 

ROSAMOND, 

Fie, Henry ! fie ! 
All flattery ! Thou know'st, poor Rosamond 
But a small portion holds of Henry's heart ! 

KING HENRY. 

Nay, nay, she rules o'er all. But let me now 
Complete the faithful picture I've begun. 
See ! at her feet all other potentates 
Their tributes lay. — And foremost in the scene, 
Olympian Juno, though reluctant, stands; 
And in her train blind Plutus, with his stores ; 
And numerous princes, bending low the knee, 
And proffering their glittering diadems ; 
Whilst opposite, Athenian Pallas stands, 
And brings with her a countless host of bards, 
Philosophers, and warriors, known to fame, — 
Who all their myrtle crowns or laurel wreaths 
Do throw, in meek submission, at the feet 
Of her whose beauty shines predominant ! — 

ROSAMOND* 

But ah ! those learned tropes yield me no joy. 
I'd rather talk with thee by looks alone. — 
I am so jealous of this greedy world, 
Which steals so much of Henry's noble heart. — 
Oh ! love, I am so jealous grown !— I sit, 
And think, and wait, and hope, and fear, and think, 
Perhaps thou hast another labyrinth, 
And in it blooms another Rosamond, 
More bright and beautiful than that poor flower, 
Which bows forlorn whene'er the trump of war 
Sounds fierce in Henry's ear. 



THE VATICAN. 



KING HENRY. 

Nay, Rosamond, 
It is not so ; and yet there was a time 
When Glory, perch'd npon the brow of Death, 
Led me where highest rolled the tide of war. 
But now Ambition's bubbles all have burst ; 
The camp, the court, the wild-boar hunt, have lost 
All charm. Nay, e'en the gorgeous tournament, 
At which the plumes of Europe's chivalry 
United nod, would not a pulse increase, 
Unless the azure eyes of Rosamond 
Lent to that scene a zest. Then would I break 
A lance, their matchless lustre to maintain 
Against a radiant galaxy of eyes, 
Through hosts of mailed knights. 

ROSAMOND. 

I would not that. 
Oh ! ne'er such danger run, my dear lov'd Lord. 
The cruel knights, who tilt for common fame, 
May hold conspiracy to murder one 
Whose matchless honour breeds green jealousy. 
I often sigh, when thinking of the foes 
Thy noble spirit makes. Besides, I hear 
The Pope now hates my Lord. — But why? ah, why 
Oh, who could hate my love ? 

KING HENRY. 

But pray for me, 
Dear Rosamond ; thy prayers will turn aside 
The heavy lance and wanton arrow's power, 
Which Treason and her children cast at kings. 

ROSAMOND. 

Stay here with me : I will protect thee, love. 
I wish I was a radiant beam of light, 
That I might smile on thee when morning breaks ! 
But though that may not be, within its shrine, 
Close to my soul, thy lordly image rests. 
E'en now, good soul, awake ; now contemplate 
The joys the presence of thy lord creates — 
Which have no life in his long tarryings. — - 
But why, my Lord, so sorrowful ? 



160 



THE SP1KIT OF 



KING HENRY [sighs.] 

Ah! ah! 

ROSAMOND. 

Perhaps some long vicissitudes have torn 
That breast I lov'd to lean upon so oft. 

KING HENRY. 

Dear one ! we would not mingle in this hour 
The strifes and turmoils of this naughty world. 

ROSAMOND. 

Then stay that deep philosophy, which weighs 
With secret power upon thy manly breast. 
I fear it often heaves when far away ! 
You do not tell me, love, what makes you sigh. 
Is it the heaving of a storm gone by, 
That gives those glittering orbs that pensive dye ? 

KING HENRY. 

Well, yes ! this heart has deeply sighed and heav'd 
Wildly, as some sore-vex'd and angry sea 
Madly throws up its ancient firm foundation 
In many countless dusky atoms, thickly, 
Which hide the glorious golden sands below, 
That sparkled in the sun of calmer days. 

Rosamond. [In tears.] 
'Tis thus thy brow has gloomy spectres dark, 
Which execute sad havoc on this heart. 
Well, well ! this misspent life is wearing fast. 

king henry. 
'Tis but a speck, — a visionary spot, — 
Or like a fragment, or a splintered spar, 
Lent for a while to sinking mariners. 
Some buffet long, and gain the distant shore ; 
Some drift along the turbid tide alone ; 
Some bound upon the beach triumphantly, 
Dashing the sea-foam from their weary brows ; 
Whilst some are shattered like a tiny shell, 
Where serf and swell in angry waves break round, 
Rousing the sea-bird in her airy nest ; 
And others, desp'rate, plunge to darkest chasms, 
And o'er them roll the ceaseless, deafening waves. 
The noble, mighty, and the fair, there sink, — 
Then rest entombed where fretted pinnacle 



THE VATICAN, 



161 



And gleaming aisles are sculptured by the waves* — 
Those busy children of the mighty deep. 

ROSAMOND. 

My dearest Lord, I love to hear thee talk : 
It elevates my soul to rapt'rous heights ; 
But then come dull and stormy thoughts and fears* 
Well, be it so ! one storm has ruined me : 
But soon comes peaceful Death to hide e'en all ; 
And then the resurrection comes, when Heav'n 
Will give me back that pearl, — which being lost — 

KING HENRY. 

What pearl ? What pearl ? What means my Rosamond? 
What pearl is lost ? and where ? and when ? and how ? 
Through every land, o'er every sea I'll roam, 
Until I find the pearl my love has lost. 

ROSAMOND. 

It was a pearl of drifted snow, giv'n me 
By One who rules the heavens, the earth, the sea ; 
And before whom all kings must humbly stand. 

KING HENRY. 

Some heavy woe disturbs my Rosamond. 

ROSAMOND. 

Oh ! 'tis a woe no mortal hand can heal \ 
It has eternal influence to wound, 
Until one stream of anguish fills my soul. 

KING HENRY. 

Sweet Rosamond, see ! heaven's pale queen is up, 
To take her lonely course. The sparkling stars 
Will soon assemble round. Be cheerful, now. 

ROSAMOND. 

Ah ! ah ! 'tis thus with man ! — Woman to him 
Is but a toy — a secondary thing. 
Alas ! the sin-sick timid nun now sinks. 

KING HENRY. 

Dear Rosamond, thy pallid cheek alarms — - 

ROSAMOND. 

The hour has come ! I now will yield up all. 
Monarch of heaven ! I now will yield to Thee. 

M 



162 



THE SPIRIT OF 



These mortal eyes, which loved to glisten bright, 
Feasting on all those kindred things, in midst 
Of which I fell — fell ! — are now immortal, 
And ne'er shall glow again with finite joys. 
Listen ! ye radiant beings bright — listen ! 
Listen ! With you I'll spend eternity. 
To you I'll chaunt sad melody — too sad 
For mortal ears. Alas ! sad minstrelsy I 

KING HENRY. 

Dear Rosamond, revive ! Consider, love, 
These ills are common to mortality. 
How long or short is life, we never know, 
But must await the loud archangel's voice ; 
Whilst tell-tale Time lags on his weary way, 
And gossips wonder, doubt, and ruminate. 

ROSAMOND. 

I wait the blast which calls the wand'rer home. 

KING HENRY. 

Come ! charm this human sorrow off, dear love. 
How often we have met, and often may ! 

ROSAMOND. 

We may ! Oh, faithless, fragile, hopeless hope 
I dash thee and thy opiate censer down 
To that poor being, who, well-intending me, 
Did win me from my heavenly path so far,. 
To sink for ever in one woful slough. 

king henry [aside.] 
Oh ! now I feel the scorching fires of hell ! 

ROSAMOND. 

Thus the green leaves of youthful life do die, 
Entangled midst this pride and wild desire, 
With them to putrefy. 

KING HENRY. 

Oh, say not so ! 
Why wilt thou hug this sorrow, Rosamond ? 

ROSAMOND. 

E'en now let pale and greedy Sorrow hear I 
Listen : thou shalt have all these ashes, — 



THE VATICAN. 



163 



To thee I yield these charms, though now so spoiled, 

Which made this mortal being loved and lost. 

Ye aiding spirits — provident in all ! — 

Take down, take down this tabernacle — slow ! 

Unloose this little trembling, anxious thing ; — ■ 

This sister-spirit take, — it longs to fly ; 

For whilst it writhes, it longs to be released. 

Oh ! tender be, as your Creator kind, — 

Farewell ! dear King, until we meet in heaven. 

Ten thousand years may roll in purgat'ry, 

Ere we may meet again. Dear King, farewell ! 

[At the word "heaven" Rosamond advances 
towards a door, when it is suddenly throivn 
open, and Eleonora, her features inflamed 
with anger and vengeance, stands before 
them. Rosamond, terrified, runs back and 
faints in the arms of King Henry. 

Enter Eleonora. 

ELEONORA. 

The King I What here ? Is it the King himself? 

KING HENRY. 

Madam ! how came you here ? You had, I think, 
No little difficulty to trace a path 
So devious ? 

eleonora. [Shelving the skein, 
Yes ! very so, my Lord. 
But see this faithful skein ! See here, my Lord ! 
This pretty guide was honest too, my Lord ;- — 
Has honestly my footsteps led to one 
Whom England boasts her King ! — To one, indeed, 
Who once did make this wild impassioned heart 
Beat high and proud ! But I no more complain ;' 
I see enough t' excite my sorrow. 

KING HENRY. 

Hold! 

Madam, all this I can explain anon. 
I do command vou hence - f for present time 

m 2 



164 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Allows not explications various. 
Leave me, I say ! 

ELEONORA. 

Nay, why so earnest, Sire ? 
I just have seen commissioners from Rome, 
And business brought me to sequestered parts. 
I wished to see a King a-chambering. 

[Affecting to leave. 
I leave. I grant your suppliant claim, — 1 go ! 
You once my humble adoration held ; 
But the sweet glances of a dying nun — 
Which well entreat such fitting company — 
Have made thee truant, negligent, unkind ! 
But since thou lov'st — love still, I pray thee now. 
I do e'en yet admire thy fortitude : 
Thy Majesty has much endured, I fear ? 
Thy treasure there has cost thee watchings long, 
Waitings, and kind sustainings, and the like. 

KING HENRY. 

I look to see thee gone. 

ELEONORA. 

Oh ! do not look 
This barren way ; for see, that lily pale 
Threatens to sink again, and e'en will die 
Without thine arm. That arm, which wielded erst 
Most mightily the battle-axe and lance, — 
Which made proud foes for mercy meekly sue, 
And savage men, as couchant lambs, submit, — 
Has now a pious office to perform, — 
A dying sister to support, whom piety 
And cloistered penances have hither brought ! 
How noble does the heart appear when girt 
With tender sympathy ! Oh ! 'tis a sight 
Resembling heav'nly scenes, to see a King — 
A great and chiv'lrous King — leave court, and camp, 
And hunt, on devious mission such as this. 
Oh ! would to Heav'n thy tim'rous subjects all, — 
The lords and stately matrons of thy court, 
The Pope, the false and pand'ring Vatican, 
The proud and handsome cavaliers of Spain, 
The gallant Emirs of Noureddin's camp, 



THE VATICAN. 



The ambling priests that gad about these parts, 

And all the finical and posied maids 

That flirt and romp at vulgar revelries, — 

Could take a peep at England's noble King, 

Purveying essence odorous and rich 

To the palled senses of a cloistered nun ! 

KING HENRY. 

Madam, I mark thy poison' d raillery. 
Thy malice wears a proud crest, eminent 
Above thy other passions numerous ; 
As the black cormorant, when perch'd on high, 
O'er some dark rocky peak, yells fearfully 
Her dissonant portentous cry, — scaring 
The timid flocks, that peaceful rest at ease 
In the soft plains below. Malicious wretch ! 
This lady is as favoured as a queen — 
As honoured, — as well-bred, — as learned too ; 
And wants no drop of gentle blood. 

ELEONORA. 

Sans doute ! 

The lady you've described with graphic touch,— 
For which her thanks abundantly are due, — 
Wants nought ; her wants are richly all supplied ! 
First, nature's gifts are amply found on her, — 
Blooming as Flora's self, when first her hand 
To wanton Zephyrus she blushing gave 
'Neath bowers that lavished odours as they passed. 
And to add grace to nature's generous boons, 
If such were wanting, — see, a valiant knight, 
In transport wrapt, kneels blushing by her side, 
Dissolving tedious time with balmy sighs 
And tears, all vaporized by rapt'rous smiles. 
Oh ! this is precious, consecrated ground ! 
Yes ! dedicate to holy purposes, 
"Where pearl-white hands devoutly are employed 
To cool the fevered brow of gallant kings ! 

KING HENRY. 

Madam, I may do that which I would not ; 
Thy absence, therefore, I once more request. 
The anger I Ve repress'd will soon burst out 



166 



THE SPIRIT OF 



In flame, from which e'en you may not escape 
Unscathed. 

ELEONORA. 

Is it then courteous to leave 
A meek and fainting maid to sink so low, 
Without the del'cate aids which her own sex, 
Methinks, are meetest to afford ? Well, well, 
I will not blame — I rather pity thee, 
A monarch great, encompass'd as thou art. 
And yet, oh blissful state ! how fine the tie 
That binds in secret bonds congenial souls ! 
And sure the lute of Orpheus never poured, 
When he won back his lost Eurydice, 
More ravishing or more heart-touching strains, 
Than the soft, floating, murmuring melodies, 
That charm all sense in this sweet Paradise ! 
But see, my Lord ! — that lady falls again ! 
Now she essays to speak ; perhaps she seeks 
The unction of the Church. 

ROSAMOND. 

[Opening her eyes, unaware of Eleonora's pre^ 
sence. Wanders for the rest of this Act.~] 
Ah ! that cold hand ! 
Remove its heavy palm — it drives me down 
With more than lightning speed. Yet, yet I have 
The fond assurance here, that guardian love 
Will bear me from this low abandonment, 
To those sublime and pure ethereal realms, 
That are too rarified to bear the weight 
Of sin — or pain — or penitential woe. 
There all is lost in love so pure, so great ! 
Hark ! heard you not that glorious shout above, 
By seraphs' lips ? They call for Rosamond, — 
The guilty and the wandering Rosamond ; 
" Return, return !" Hark, hark ! Angels, I come, 
To bloom again above, and grafted there 
On stem that man nor fiend can break, shall fear 
No second fall. 

[ Wild and wandering. Sees the Queen. 
Ha, ha ! see there ! Who's that ? 
Ope that dark gulf for Rosamond ! Here, here ! 



THE VATICAN. 



167 



Take me, ye Furies ! Oh ! must I go there ? 

What ! go to hell, to find a refuge there 

From the hot fire that burns within this heart ? 

And rase for ever from my maddened eyes 

That sin I see as deed of yesterday, — 

When, deaf to all but Passion's suasive voice, 

I left the peaceful roof that sheltered me 

In buoyant childhood's days of innocence ? 

Ah, ah ! this weight of woe might e'en a ray 

Of sympathy awake in blackest fiends ! 

The Church did promise to withhold this draught — ■ 

This bitter draught ! Oh faithless, faithless Church ! 

[Seizes Henry firmly and wildly. 
Is this then Death ? Is this long-envied Death I 
If so, I love thee, Death ! I love thee, Death, — 
That not e'en Henry shall unknit this clasp, 
Or tear thee, Death, from Rosamond — But soft ! 

[Passionately pushing Henry aside. 
Hush ! ye rude, boisterous winds, and lightly blow, — 
And, in soft dying cadence, bear your wings 
To your far distant homes, where southern skies 
Shed brighter beams upon the smiling earth ! 
Go, go, where cascades clear, and crystal streams, 
Did erst suppress their murmur sweet, to list 
The sweeter sounds, with which the Mantuan reed 
All vocal made the sunny vine-clad hills 
And orange bowers, so loved by Dryad nymphs ! 
Ah ! now the shadowy vale is nearly passed, 
And the bright confines of eternity 
Before me shine. See ! yonder now descends 
The fairest, meekest of the spiritual world, — 
The herald Mercy, smiling through her tears. 
Yes, yes ! she's pointing to the spotless robe, 
And all my accusers stand abashed and dumb ! 
(The wicked priest, who prompted me to sin, 
Is there, in fetters held by almighty hands !) 
She comes triumphantly — the penitent 
To meet upon her way ! I come, I come! 
Now plume my wings to fly ! — Where am I now ? 
Ay, ay ! The King — the Queen — Does no one speak ? 
And yet something there is that holds me down. 
Firmly it holds ! What is 't that keeps me back ? 



168 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Who can it be that keeps me back from heav'n ? 
Who is it ? Speak. Ah ! Henry, is it thou ? 
'Tis he— 'tis he ! [She sinks. 

Hugo appears. 

HUGO. 

I humbly would salute 
Your gracious Majesties. 

KING HENRY. 

And can our Queen 
Find food for malice in a scene like this ? 

HUGO. 

All this is strange ! — What have we here, my Liege ? 

[Addressing Eleonora. 
Your Majesty's attendant seems to faint. 
Where stray her wand'ring thoughts ? Upon her brow 
Sits Agony too great for Reason's sway — 
The worst, the deadliest form that Death can take. — 
It is De Clifford's child, Fair Rosamond. 
I fear this is the wakeless sleep of Death ; — 
But here comes timely aid. 

Aba appears. 

ABA. 

My mistress dear, 
Awake ! The King, the Queen, and Father Hugo here, 
Do round thee stand. Dear Lady Rosamond, 
Take, take this draught — it will your strength restore. 

Rosamond [looking up]. 
It is my Aba's voice ! One comfort then 
Is left me still. — Raise, raise me to the air 
For breath ! 

[Aba again offers the draught. 
No, no ; I cannot take that draught — 
See, it flames up ! [Points to the glass. 

[Looks round more collected. 
I know you all full well, — 
And all your various purposes divine, — 
Except the reverend father's there. Therefore 
Wise priest, thy mission tell. Was it to see 
The hectic glow that flushes in the cheek, 



THE VATICAN. 



169 



Ere life's faint glimmering taper is quite quenched ? 
Or list a tale of penitence and shame, 
And glean wherewith to point your homilies ? 
Or hast thou holy unction brought, and wait'st 
To shrive my soul ? 'Tis well ! I thought the end 
Of time was here, and that my sorrow's cup, 
Being full, and drunk unto the dregs, was sunk 
In the deep ocean of eternity ! 

[Looking towards Eleonora. 
But soft ! I now some real substance see 
Protruding there — some creeping thing — coiled up 
As 'twere, for so it seems to my glaz'd eye ! 
Stay, stay ! thou purring, buzzing thing — what is't 
Thou seek'st. — Is't I ? If so, then speak. Here, see ! 
Here is the lost, abandoned Rosamond 
The Fair ! But, greedy thing, I now escape 
Thy power ! — 

eleonora [aside]. 
Yes, now ! — but only now. 

ROSAMOND. 

Still, still, 

Enchantress, thou attempt's t to follow me. 
Thou panting, gloating thing, I leap from thee ! 

eleonora [muttering to herself]. 
But sooty Death shall take thee soon, and toss 
Thee into hell ! 

ROSAMOND [falls]. 

Ah! ah! 

eleonora [aside.] 

For present time, 
Adultress, fare thee well ! anon — anon — 
I will another visit pay this bower, 
And stop this plaintive bird's seducing airs ! 
These affectations sound of harlotry ! 
I'll make thee act another part ere long, 
And give thee time to learn thy part in lands 
The Church has called fair Purgatory's climes. 



170 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Scene VI. — An Apartment in Palace at Woodstock. 
Eleonora alone. 

ELEONORA. 

Long have I mused, (as on a couch intent 
Fair Dido let the proud iEneas leave 
Her arms expanded for his noble love,) 
And thus this ambling doe escapes my toils. 
I now throw back the curtain of delay ; 
But how ? but how ? No room is left for doubt: 
That must be quickly done, which must be done. 
Dull Resolution lies on th' back of Time ; 
As on a speck of land, mid boisterous seas, 
Some shipwrecked treasure long neglected lies, 
Whilst many suns and moons alternately 
Glance by ; and many a billowy tide bounds on, 
Until some angry storm sweeps it away. 
Thus change on change goes on, and chance is lost. — 
'Tis now, the King being absent for a while, 
'Tis now I may enfold this downy lamb 
Within my longing arms, and then — aye, then — 
I well may feast, in all the rest of time, 
When that blood chills, which in its current dares 
To gleam like rubies, sparkling on the cheek, 
As Hebe's fresh, of this adulteress ! 



Scene VII. — Eleonora in the Wood. 

ELEONORA. 

Up, up, my daring soul ! up, up, I say ! 
Let fiends attend and gossip, as we go, — 
Contend, — dissent, — agree. — 

[Furies appear. 
Too wit — too wit. — 

FIRST FURY. 

I sit by the forest pine, 

And dream of death and blood : 
The realms of the future are mine ; 
I float in its boiling flood. 



THE VATICAN, 



171 



SECOND FURY. 

I have poised in the trembling air ; 

I have slept in the coral bed, 
Where every glistening spar 

Shines on the putrid dead. 

THIRD FURY. 

I sleep near the cataract's thunder, 

Within the lion's lair ; 
Where the rocks are riven asunder, 

And forked lightnings tear. 

ELEONORA. 

The day is gone, — whilst Evening beckons Night 
T' array the concave heaven in funeral suit, 
That Melancholy from her cell may step, 
T' indulge her dreary thoughts and musings deep. 
But night is bright, and day is dark, to Guilt, — 
Whose lidless eye owns not the boon of sleep. 
Ye Furies, blench not at the task prescribed ; 
But some wild song of hideous import chaunt. 

FIRST FURY. 

The speckled moon rides high, 
The gloomy fir rocks in her bed ; 

And every angry wind that's nigh 
Is by a fiery demon led. 

SECOND FURY. 

The sighing breeze, with perfumed wing, 

That wantons o'er the plain, 
Shall fan a victim's death-pale cheek ; 

And Henry's reign be vain, 

THIRD FURY. 

As sure as morn shall gild the sky, 
Or rippling stream declare its course, 

De Clifford's peerless child shall die, 
And die by vengeful woman's force. 

ELEONORA. 

Oh that the murky lamp of wandering fiends 
Would gleam conductive on my devious way ! 
Oh ! how I long for proofs most palpable 



172 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Of Death's irrevocable work ! — Yes ! yes ! 

Let every sensual organ yield its share : — 

The fixed, the glassy, visionless eye ; — the mouth 

Half open, and the nostril gaunt ; but yet 

No breath of pride or grateful sweetness comes : — 

The bosom silent, marble-cold, and still : 

There issues forth foul Putrefaction's breath. — 

But I must haste, lest better angels come 

With mystic palm, and stop this work of blood. 

Come, tardy Death ! here is my bright ally ! 

[Looks at dagger. 
Or, if my purpose turns, accounting well, 
Here are more tender viands sparkling high ! 

[Holds up phial. 
What holds me thus, and keeps me from my end ? 
The steed that oft outstrips the wind he snuffs, 
Halts and curvets in nature's majesty: 
The tributary stream, that wanders long, 
Great Ocean's honours deep at length shall share : 
The gentle breeze that skims the flow'ry plain, 
And stops to kiss the glossy curls of Youth, 
Or fan the ruddy cheek of robust Health, 
Or lull to rest the labour-wearied serf, 
At tEoIus' trump shall wake, and awful join 
The council of the storm, and roaring loud 
In all the pride of desolating power, 
Rend Nature's high materialities. 
Now, soul, be steadfast here. Long hast thou worn 
An earthen crown : bright is that precious earth ; 
But yonder lies a kingdom brighter far 
Than heavenly realms. A waxen wall alone 
'Twixt thee and thy long sought possession stands. 
But hark ! — it is the nightingale I seek. 

[Rosamond's voice is heard, singing. 
" That morning's beam is gone, 
Which shone at break of day ; 
And I am still alone — 
No change for me ! 

" Oh, do not change that face, 

Thou lonely, murmuring stream ! — 
Oh, do not lose that grace 
O'er which 1 loved to lean ! 



THE VATICAN. 



173 



" I wish I had a grave 

Close by some rocky shore, 
In madness there to rave, 
Nor think of Henry more. 

"But whilst the sky is bright, 
And all the stars are high, 
My souls feels light, 
As though 'twould fly. 

" Poor soul ! thou must not rove 
To that fair land, 
But wait and watch thy hour 
Till God's command." 

ELEONORA. 

Ye wailing notes, encompass earth, — then haste 
To hell itself, and bid the gates wide ope 
For Rosamond the Fair. She comes to join, 
"With tenor light, and vain lascivious airs, 
Pale Hecate's bands, and play coquetries there. 

[Going towards the maze. 
How awful is this silence deep ! — List ! — list ! 
Some little insect by me purrs ! — Tush ! tush ! 
His love-tale to his listening fair he sings. 
No wandering phantom or seraphic ghost 
Shall turn me from my resolution firm. 
Conscience ! thou busy, meddling monitor ! 
Trust me awhile, and I will pay arrears ; 
But stand aside just now, and let me lead. 
We '11 meet again, — if not on earth, in hell. 
Ah ! must I — can I — shall I — dare I do 't ?— 
Put out that spark, which then no human skill 
Could to its moulded clay restore ? — spoiling 
Those heaving orbs that mock the mountain-snow 
Tinged by Apollo's parting farewell glance ? 
Giving those dimples to the filthy worm, 
Whose greedy lips shall foul corruption suck, 
E'en where the King has kissed ? — But soft ! — what's this ? 

[Walking slowly, and looking around. 



174 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Just here some ancient river calmly flows, 

Sweet with the lavish vernal breeze, which oft 

The flowing locks hath turned aside to kiss 

The bronzed brow of my unfaithful prince. 

Must I turn vulture in his paradise ? 

And with the substance of my talons tear 

From out their sockets deep those floating eyes 

He doats upon ? O Night, thou kind ally, 

Fold thickly over me thine ebon cloak ; 

My angry purpose thus conceal and aid. 

'Tis now this lovelorn harlot I will drive 

To Death's unfathomed bed. But stay ! What passed ? — 

Tush, tush ! — the wind sweeps roughly o'er the stream ; 

And the tall pine, as quivering marshy reed, 

Makes Fear a body animate with eyes, 

And arms, and bony hands. 

Conscience, be still ! 
'Tis better far that I in this affair 
Should take the lead. — I '11 make amends, I said — - 
And for my Vengeance praise the god of hell. 



Scene VIII. — The Labyrinth. 

Eleonora. Rosamond. 

eleonora. 

I come to be the messenger of peace, — - 
Of peace that never ends, my lady fair. * 
Say, shall I wile away these slow-paced hours, 
Or hasten on, by magic wand of mine, 
Thy bosom's lord to thy expectant arms ? 

ROSAMOND. 

[Looking up and starting. 

If thou art human, — or whate'er thou art, — - 
Oh ! break this awful spell, and tell me true : — 
Hast thou some mission terrible? Ah ! — ah ! — 
Thy quivering lip declares it. What art thou ? 
Whence comest thou ? — Thou dreadful thing, declare ! 



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175 



ELEONORA. 

[Stamps and advances. 
The hated, hateful Eleanor, thy Queen, 
Seeks audience of the harlot Rosamond. 

[Rosamond shrinks bach and swoons. 

eleonora [whispering .} 

'Tis Heaven, or hell, that smiles upon me now, 
And this most opportune occasion grants. — 

[Taking a phial from her breast, approaching Ro- 
samond, and affecting to support her, speaks in 
a feigned voice. 

My lady fair, thy maid attends thee here. 
This draught nectarian will quick revive 
That light, which, too far sinking, yields to death. 
Thy lord will soon return to thy embrace. 

[Holds herself back, and puts the draught to Ro- 
samond's mouth. 

My lady fair, take this, — [Begins to pour. 

And this, — and this. 

[Continues to pour. 

How soon it takes effect ! She sleeps ! she sleeps ! 
'Tis done ! Ha ! ha ! the curtains both are down 
On those blue stars that late on Henry smiled ! 
(But they on him shall smile no more !) See how 
Their jetty fringe kisses the peachy bloom 
Of her soft downy cheek ! Were I man, 
I must the King forgive, that loveliness 
Resistless such as this o'ermastered him. 
But I a woman am, (or rather was, 
For I can feel the fiend within me grow) 
And mould of beauty in a rival's form 
Is mould of guilt and loathsome ugliness. 
But what now do I see ? Transition quick ! 
How ghastly pale she turns ! a heavy sweat 
Her every dimple fills ! Where 's beauty now ? 
All fled : — in particles respective gone, 
To clothe the lily and revive the rose, 
And thus adorn its native settlements ; 
Wearing its virgin blushes there, unstained 
By false affections or by mortal lusts. 



176 



THE SPIRIT OF 



ROSAMOND. 

[ Opening her eyes with wandering gaze. 
Where is the cake to give this Cerberus ? 
Ah ! was it but a dream ? Alas ! they say, 
That even royal beds are visited 
By wandering and haunting phantasies. 

ELEONORA. 

Has placid evening's mild restoring balm 
Quickened thy virtue, Mistress Rosamond ? 

ROSAMOND. 

Ah ! Mistress ! Mistress ! — Whence proceeds this sound ? 
These glaring eyeballs float in lurid fire, 
Like stars of hell ! I see, with malice fraught, 
O Hecate, thou hast crossed the Stygian flood, 
Bringing foul magic arts to scare me ! Ah ! 
Ah ! when I look upon thy scowling brow, 
A chilling horror creeps through all my veins, 
As if o'er Acheron's cold bitter stream 
My languid soul were being now conveyed ! 
Oh ! oh ! these pangs ! they pierce, they rend apart 
Sinew from muscle, flesh from bone, as storms 
Tear from the hull both sails and splintered mast. 
Oh ! oh ! A heat comes over me, as showers 
Of burning sulphur : — I can't bear it ! 
There, hold me. — Aba — Aba — where am I ? 

ELEONORA. 

My lady fair, thy lord is near thee now — 
Bends by thy knee, and wipes thy pallid face. 

ROSAMOND. 

That voice is hoarse— I've heard it once before. 

ELEONORA. 

Thy blood flows lazily ; thy lair is soft, 
Good Mistress Rosamond ! 

ROSAMOND. 

Good Mistress, sooth ! I dreamt 
A weary dream, that, 'midst of sulph'rous mists, 
Something incarnate crouched by my side 
And suck'd my breath — insatiate, hideous, thing ! 



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177 



eleonora, [aside.] 

Ha ! ha ! fastidious Mistress Rosamond ! 
I cannot listen to Arcadian airs, 
Or strains thou 'st practised in this labyrinth: — 
Thy time for such coquetry grows full short. 

[Rosamond's head falls on her breast. 

How now, my drooping posy flower? how now ? 
Thy head is pendulous, as if 'twere filled 
With juice from Grenada, and rocks about 
As stately vessel on a billow's crest. 

ROSAMOND. 

[Opening her eyes, and appearing composed. 
What see I now ? — The Queen V — It is the Queen ! 

ELEONORA. 

Look not on me — I can forgive thee now — 
But rather look at Eve's soft golden beam. 
Take thy last look of her, Fair Rosamond ; 
Thou seest she blushes deeply as thou look'st. 

ROSAMOND* 

And do thou look on th' high and azure throne, 
Whence Vengeance winged with burning wrath shall come. 
Dar'st thou, defying all the laws of God, 
And all the dread magnificence of Heaven, 
A foul and dastard murder perpetrate ? 

ELEONORA. 

I — I— I — murder ! — Dare— I— murder ? — I ? 

ROSAMOND. 

Ah ! wouldst thou kill a helpless penitent ? 

ELEONORA. 

Thy vile adult'ry brings it on thy head ; 
And I am but an humble instrument 
In Heaven's avenging hand to punish thee. 
This hour — triumphant hour !— is all my own. 
My joy, my long sought joy, is now possessed. 
Ah ! ah ! why beat so high, thou merry heart ! 
Wait, flutt'rer, the consummation of our joys. 

N 



178 



THE SPIRIT OF 



ROSAMOND. 

All ! this is Death's own chilling hand, I feel 
Upon me now, absorbing nature's powers ! 

[Rosamond's body sinks, and slides off the seat. 

ELEONORA. 

That mystic crash ! The throne of intellect 
Now falls! What countless streams of thought rush forth, 
As though their occupation gone ! Electric touch ! 
Region mysterious ! how prostrate now ! — 
Thy secret purposes are closed : that part, 
That something of eternity, is gone, 
As some far distant sail ; 'twas but a speck, 
An atom quivering on the horizon bright, 
Then sunk for ever on the viewless sea. 

ROSAMOND. 

I sink — I sink ! I do confess my sins ! — 
Accept my prayer — forgive ! — O God, I sink I 

ELEONORA. 

Bear up awhile — 

ROSAMOND. 

No more — I sink ! I sink I 

ELEONORA. 

Ha ! ha ! Fair Rosamond, thou Parian fair, 
Tell the cold Grave that I thee forward sent, 
A dainty mistress for old ugly Death ; 
And when in joy he gapes convulsively, 
Seeking to press thee to his chapless jaws, 
And mumbles thy lips o'er as if he'd kiss : — 
Tell him that I thy sole bride swoman was, 
And sent thee in the heyday of thy life 
To his encircling, gaunt and scaled arms ! 

[Rosamond sinks in death; Eleonora frantic 
with joy. 

She dies ! Regale thyself, thou gallant heart, 
And watch awhile this waxen, wanton thing ; 
While every atom of mortality, 
And all the careless matter, thus forlorn, 
Declines and sinks into eternal sleep. 



THE VATICAN. 



179 



All that the everlasting world awards — 
The may -be, and the black deception vast, — 
All this she now is welcome to. But see ! 
The mystic tale of nether life is told, 
And made the refuse of eternity ! 
Well ! now, ye fairies, trip upon the green ; 
Let Echo hasten hence to join the song. 
Let Hate and Murder wild, with angry eye, 
Take part and join this merry midnight glee. 

[Rosamond's body quivers. 
Tut ! tut ! Say why this quivering, quailing, dear ? 
Quibbling with Death ? 'Tis past ; but now I see — 
So — so — thy bridegroom's arms thou likest not ; 
Thou shrink'st, and may'st distort thy comeliness ; — 
And p'rhaps these deathlike features may remain, 
And breed grave doubts in grave fools' heads ; and then 
Suspicion in her jaunting car may rest 
Somewhere. [Rosamond's body falls. 

[A minute s dead silence. 
Come spirits, brand her as your own, 
And lead her blindfold to the chasm, which marks 
The land of woe and toil. You'll prove her coward, 
And truant, if she can; — but gripe her hard; 
Entwine your web -like forms, and if she trips, 
Then dash into the grave ; her hopeless hope 
Thus blast, and lash the vile offender home. 

[Pauses. 

Dark Midnight, leaning on his ebon wand, 
Complaining walks with melancholy steps. 
Where's Henry now? — -the false King! — Where, pale ghost, 
V\ Tiere is thy Lord ? What ! moody and chagrined ? 
Hast thou no answer ? Well ! I thee will tell. 
He dreams of gold and glittering scimitars, 
And on thy Parian breast he vows again 
Soon to recline. Fond fool! Adultress vile ! 
Thy palling charms, poor ghost, he '11 soon forsake. 

[Approaching the body, she picks the face. 
Those heaving pangs have rent and marked her — here — 
And here. But hark ! 'tis Aba now returned ! 
Or is 't the gusty wind moaning in woe ? 
Or some intrusive wandering serf? Ye stars, — 
And placid moon, — and thou unslumberincr sea, — 

n 2 



180 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Now bear me witness, I am merciful, 

And but performed the will of vengeful Heaven. 

Now here, fair ghost, we part, and I must beg 
Thy silence on our meeting's cause. What still 
In moods ? Come, bounding, panting Fear — thy nod 
I now obey, and leave this company 
Of solemn, silent things. 

[A voice is heard. 
Rest, spirit, rest ! 



THE VATICAN. 



181 



ACT V. 

Scene I. — Camp near the sea in Normandy. 

king henry [alone, rising from his couch. 
I seem to hear the buzzing as of gnats, 
With twittering chaunts, changing their tuneful lay ; 
The mind's eye sees their light and graceful dance ; 
The ear is charm'd by sweet fantastic airs, 
Which woo to tender languishment the soul. 
Or are they midnight spirits watching me, 
And pace their path as sentinels, obedient 
To execute their mission from high Heaven, 
Waking the dead and distant things now past ? 
So memory breaks in and robs this clay 
Of nature's food, — the seeming death, — soft sleep. 
But what the message ? Wherefore seek they me ? 
Now speak ; — ye know the things of heaven and earth. 
In pity break the bonds which ever held 
Ye free from man's susceptibilities. 
Say, what shall dark to-morrow bring to me ? — 
Shall I be spirit then, or be a king ? 
Tell, shall I meet some greedy ponderous axe, 
Wielded by some unerring arm, to kill 
This real phantom thing, which plays its airs 
To dazzle Death whilst aiming his fell shafts ? 
If so, I'm charm'd that I so soon shall be 
All soul, without the nerve to feel — or eye 
To bear the gaze of sportive insolence, 
Which Richard and the upstart imp of France 
Would dare to cast on what they fear'd in life. 
So when vile rebels pass this mangled corse, 
They'll find it empty of that thing they sought. 
Oh, say ! Now let your wither'd lips respire ; — 
Say, must I lay this body down for wolves 
Of France to tear with vip'rous teeth ? Or say, 
May I once more hear shrill the clarion cry 
Of victory ? — once more to feel the hectic glow 
Which spoils the utt'rance, and recrowns the brow ? 



182 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Whate'er shall hap in sad to-morrow's hours 

Shall load this soul with gloomy mourning clothes ; 

For every eye which quails before gaunt Death — 

Yes, every spark of light to-morrow dims — 

Is mine, to be accounted for above. 

But let me wear the breast-plate of the brave ; 

With that, once more I'll face the foulest foe. 

But oh ! 'tis hard to win in civil war, 

And see the blood I love in clotted heaps. 

I wish 'twere o'er, and I could rest and rise 

No more. 

[Lies down on couch; dreaming. 
You tilt for royal blood ! thou priest ! 
'Tis old and lazy— take it, thief, and budge. 

[Soldier knocks ; Henry starts up. 
"What on my couch ? 'tis like Rebellion's shifts 
To kill by stealth. 

SOLDIER. 

My Liege, the hour is come, 
Appointed for the council to be here. 

KING HENRY. 

Ah, yes ! and I must come to do my part. 



Scene II. — Council in Camp. 
King Henry, Arundel, Mowbray, &c. 

KING HENRY. 

'Tis thus, my friends, that, like the mighty Jove, 
Who rides alone triumphant on the storm, 
While yet attent a thousand spirits wait 
To bear the vengeance of his mighty state, 
And hurl Rebellion's sons beneath his feet, 
We hold our court near foaming seas, and oft 
In lands far distant from our native hills. 
But to the brave it matters not, my lords, 
Where, unforeseen, the will of Providence 
Unsheaths our ready swords. 'Tis honour calls : 
All know our cause — the noble cause of all 
Worthy to live or die. 

ARUNDEL. 

The sea runs high ! 



THE VATICAN. 



KING HENRY. 

The sea is faithful servant of a King 
To whom we trust our crown and all we love. 

MOWBRAY. 

My Liege, the third watch now is passed. 

KING HENRY. 

'Tis morn ; 

For see ! the eastern gates are open thrown, 
And bright Aurora's milk white steeds appear : 
Those spreading oaks, affording goodly shade, 
Mark well our path ; 'tis there they form their lines. 

[ Wind roars, shaking the tent 
The winds in contest are. Rough Boreas ! 
He comes to tempt the angry cetus forth, 
And madly roars upon this rock-girt sea. 
If so, the swelling w T aves will quickly bear 
Our friends to this bold coast. Let heav'n proclaim, 
We have no fear of death ; nor would we sigh 
For brighter blood to flow in civil war. 
To wild and false rebellion Death 's no friend ; 
His dreary empire undisputed stands ; 
No rebel there to wrong his rightful state ! 
This day, ye Norman knights, and Saxon friends, 
Your wives, your offspring, your once happy homes, 
Your noble country, liberty, and laws, 
And all the laurels won in blood-stained fields, 
Demand your swords, — your ever-gallant breasts 
Now pant with patriot's ire. — Prepare ! Go, sweep 
These rebel hirelings from my sight, and — 

Hark! 

I hear the champ of steeds and rustling casques ! 
Lord Arundel, look o'er the hazy plain : 
Although I cannot see, I have a sense 
That troops of soldiers skirt the hill. 

[Arundel goes to the door of camp 

ARUNDEL. 

My Liege, 

Whole troops of bounding steeds, bedecked in gold, 
On either side the stream approach our camp : 
There 's one with mantle loose and blazing casque. 



184 



THE SPIKIT OF 



His bright array marks more than mortal pride ; 
It bears unnumbered hues ; its fulgency 
Has tints as varied as the bow of heaven : 
As some tall pine, it tops the myriads round — 
There 's majesty adorning all. 

[Shouts heard without. 

KING HENRY. 

Hark ! Hark ! 
Their haughty leader shakes his heavy lance. 
'Tis he ! 'tis he ! They come ! they come ! They shout ! 
The clank of Richard's scaly mail I hear, 
Midst heav'n and earth — like a black fiend he comes. 

[All rush out. 



Scene III. — Open Field. 

KING HENRY. 

Let all who sue with bending knee be spared ; 
And if Black Richard comes, leave him to me, 
Once more to save this recreant son from death. 

AID-DE-CAM P. 

My Liege, sad news ! Brave Mowbray now is dead. 
Fast sinks the mighty soul of brave St. Clerc. 

KING HENRY. 

Twice rebel ! hold thy faint and trembling tongue. 

[Aside, 

Ah ! this will be a dreadful day of blood. 

Some demon sits and guides this angry war. 

But I must execute my arduous part, 

Until I faint beneath the load of woe, 

And jumble 'midst the heap of England's slain. 

Another Aid-de-camp. 
My Liege ! My Liege ! still — still the rebel hosts 
Press on our rear. Thy son now leads the charge. 

WALLENGE. 

A valiant knight !— And here he comes, my Liege. 
'Tis said he is the Duke Bretagne, — he comes ! 



THE VATICAN. 



185 



KING HENRY. 

Ah, ah ! I see his lofty nodding crest ; 
His sable plumes wave like terrific clouds : 
Before his threatening arm whole troops fall back. 
Thus moved fierce Diomede, when he, by night, 
The Thracian Rhesus slew, with all his host, 
And carrying off the fatal horses, broke 
The spell that rendered Troy invincible. 
But see ! thus slaves eternally must bleed, 
Where gods, or men as gods, shall deign to move. 
My foe is not my foe, when girt about 
With lustrous arms steeped in the gore of war. 
He comes to break his lance e'en where I stand ! 
Thou furious chief, besmeared with crimson tide, 
Thy deeds this day have placed thee on a par 
With kings. Oh that thy cause were just, as great ! 
Lord Duke ! May Justice break the lance which breaks ! 
He leaps o'er pools of blood to meet his King ! 
Come, Fortune — Fate — join on! My brain is thick: 
My eyes will scarce distinguish friend from foe. 
Alas ! alas ! I see his form again ! 
It is the Duke Bretagne, whose sire I loved — 
Unhorsed ! — I will not fight on 'vantage ground. 
Wallenge, take this true steed aside, [dismounts, ,] Whilst I 
Perform my part in this sad murd'rous scene, 
To kill my friend ! All hell resounds with joy ! 

[The Duke de Bretagne approaches the King. 

Heroic rebel ! whose unconquered arm 
Rises to slay thy King, prepare for death. 
Would that my crown were sinking in thy brow, 
To pierce its angry thorns within thy brain ! 
Then might I be accounted free from blood 
I would not spill. No middle path remains. 

DUKE DE BRETAGNE. 

No, not for Henry — wild Plantagenet ! 
Whose frown, though darker than the storm itself, 
No more shall awe the faithful patriot's soul 
With tyrant's power. 

[Tilts at the King. 
Impenetrable mail ! 
[They encounter fiercely, the King defensive only. 



186 



THE SPIRIT OF 



KING HENRY. 

Thy arm is fall'n ; thy King wears mail of heav'n : 
No rebel's arm can pierce this deathless frame. 
Come, measure back that foot — thy lance is broke ! 
Rise, rise ! — Look once again upon thy King. 

DUKE DE BRETAGNE. 

In mercy, King, take, take this weary life ! 
This is the last and only grace I ask. 
O'er streams of noble and ignoble blood 
I sought thy blood, willing to wage my own ; 
'Tis thine ! then let it flow, and bubbling join 
The reeking streams that ooze through patriots' veins. 

KING HENRY. 

Inglorious sight ! The bravest soldier bends. 
Now let Rebellion fall with thy proud lance, 
And then, Lord Duke, I give my hand again. 

\_A chance arrow kills the Duke, and he falls in 
the act of approaching the King. 

All now is o'er, — that routed spirit flies, 
As oft the lingering rays of golden eve 
Dash down to join the nitrous gloom of night. 
Injurious Death! that pledge will rise to Heav'n. 
Alas ! poor Duke ! the earth will hide this dust, 
Now this inglorious life is passed away ; 
But what can wipe away those stains which blot 
The standard that thy father bore ? 

RALPH DE GLANVILLE. 

No hand 

But that which spared this ingrate chief. 'Tis thine, 
Great King, to raise that fallen name once more. 

KING HENRY. 

Wallenge ! see, see, — remove this fallen chief, 
With escort of our body guard, to camp. 

[Aside. 

This graceless job of death sinks deep within, 
And aids the vile revolt of passions here. 

[Puts his hand to his heart. 



THE VATICAN. 



187 



It makes young bony Fear look out awhile. — 
But as I have a Christian soul, I swear, 
I'll make Rebellion's voice cry — Mercy, King ! 
Until its echo shakes fair Britain's rocks. 

[Addressing Sir John Baliol. 

I would that wing were flank'd with heavy horse. 
Those archers spend their fury vainly, whilst 
The citizens of Mans seem gall'd in rear. 
Let Breuse, with his thrice noble host, sustain 
The charge where France's bloody squadron lies. 
But see ! those foul Castilians now fly. 

Who rides with news, advancing on us quick ? 
As the wild charge of death he comes. See! see! 
Some worthy news, I trust, or else 'twould come 
Before the vagrant blast. 'Tis Stutteville 
Vies with the wind to reach our anxious eyes. 

Well now, good knight, thy steed has chafed the gale : 
Say, what repairs in this foul gust of time ? 

STUTTEVILLE. 

Alas, alas ! some tears are needful here, 
Or heaving sighs, to garnish well this day, 
Which seems as Day of Judgment come too soon. 

KING HENRY. 

Why hangs thy speech, Sir John de Stutteville ? 
I am no ghost ; this bloody arm proves that. 
Has Philip's silly face confronted thee ? 
Now, by St. George, I see it in thy face. 

STUTTEVILLE. 

Pell-mell comes France to make our gory beds, 
And Henry's heir, bearing the torch of hell. 

KING HENRY. 

And is this all, Sir John de Stutteville ? 
Where did'st thou see the trooper fiend, my son ? 

STUTTEVILLE. 

I wish 'twere all, my Liege, and all was o'er ! 
I'm blind with gazing at the things which were. 
'Tis all one heap of death — Death 's everywhere. 
The Prince looks down on all — he's Death himself ; 



188 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Just now I passed him cleaving down De Vere ; 

With that fell axe he hurls men into hell: 

It clatters like the moving clouds of heav'n. 

His deeds of black impiety alarm 

The boldest of the bold ; the timid sink 

As quicksands in the overwhelming tide, 

When hideous roaring waves for ever close. 

[Cries of the wounded. 

king henry [aside]. 
Hell hears the insufferable noise, and laughs. 
Soon some thick flood of fire will drive us on 
In masses to the house of deathless Death. 
Would that my time was come, or I alone 
Could gage with Death my everlasting hopes 
Against that fear of death which thousands kills, 
And fight for victory with my lone arm, — 
Then on one die cast all or nought with him. 

STUTTEVILLE. 

Now not a moment's interval can stay 
The harvest that gaunt Death is gathering in ; 
Like baleful meteor's blaze, the Prince moves on ; 
Midst groves of spears he cleaves his fearful way, 
Fierce as an angry boar ; — his foes below 
Cry Mercy, Mercy, Prince ! — then shrink and die. 
Before his powerful arm Montgomery sunk, 
And even Mowbray found no milder fate. 
In one vast ruin all that 's noble lies. 

[Shouts heard. 



Scene IV. — Another part of the Field. 

Prince Richard encountered by Murchand, the General 
of a mercenary band in the pay of Henry. 

RICHARD. 

Come, bloody Murchand, we are now well met, — 
A prince's blood against a caitiff's brains. 
Yield to the mercy of this dripping axe ; 
'Twill make thee payment now for all this war. 



THE VATICAN. 



189 



MURCHAND. 

Thou wheezing, woodcock star of infamy, 
Lay down that twittering shuttle, or thy sire 
Shall see a hatchway made into thy brow. 

RICHARD. 

Thou burning brand of sin, take charge of this ! 

[Strikes at Murchand. 
I'll crown thee king of fiends with this light wand, 
And make thy crackling skull spill out thy brains. 

[Murchand averts the blow. 

MURCHAND. 

Sir prince, thy thirsty pride is not discreet : 
That gallant tongue is scarcely fit for thee. 
Come, mend thy skill, and strike at me again. 

[Richard's horse plunges forward. 

RICHARD. 

Thou Moloch Jew, dealer in blood, prepare! 
Thy tawny flesh shall lick the filthy mire, 
For swine to wallow in, and swell themselves 
In vile inodorous festivity. 

MURCHAND. 

Display thy dazzling mail to puny France, 
And with thy oily tongue make Philip's praise ; 
See here a foe who heeds thee not — at death 
He laughs. 

RICHARD. 

Hold there, then, boorish murderer : 
What ! hast thou dared, thou grim barbarian, 
To try thy craft in midst of princes' broils ? 
1 '11 drive thee down ten thousand fathoms deep, 
To dwell with fire in some dark bog below, 
And there to count thy blood-stained gold, in midst 
Of raving fiends. There bellow out thy foam, 
As fiery surge from Sodom's heaving sea; 
There in the midst of blood enthrone thyself, 
Where howling Cerberus for ever moans. 

MURCHAND. 

Thy tongue is like thy freaking axe ; it lolls 
As tossed by the light of jostling breeze ; 



190 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Ye gallants vainly play the game of war. 

Thou speckled Gaul ! I'll teach thee how to fight. 

Thou squeaking bud of boasting royalty ! 

I'll spit thee on the tail of this old lance, 

And toss thee to the fighting cocks at court ; 

'Twill make thy wanton royalty spirt out, 

And spoil the spangles on thy glistening mail. 

Most puissant knight ! go hide thy rebel's face. 

RICHARD. 

Thou brazen-throated murderer, stand back ! 
I'll lop thy brutal tongue, thou dragon-calf. 

MURCHAND. 

Thou wanton prince, go pipe Arcadian airs, 
And watch the tender lambs in Norman meads, 
And weep until fair Alice hears thy sighs. 

RICHARD. 

Infernal, foul barbarian — take that ! 
And that ! and that ! 



MURCHAND. 

And that ! — thy infant arm 
Wants bearers for that axe, although besmeared 
With blood of thy own countrymen. Base prince ! 

RICHARD. 

Base fiend ! 

[Murchand falls, severely wounded. 



Scene V. — Another part of the Field. 
Philip of France encounters the Abbot of St. Osith's. 

PHILIP. 

Come, ambling priest, now fight for some rich see. 
I'll teach thee how to poise thy targe — and die 
In honour of an old adult'rous king. 
Thy oily personage, so odorous, 
May fade in beauty ere we part ; but yet 
I'll give thee, Abbot, marks of royal grace, 
Which thy sleek skin shall bear to Death's cold court. 



THE VATICAN. 



191 



ABBOT. 

Well, mad presumptuous France ! thy envious craft 
Has torn away the Prince ; — the heir himself 
Hath been beguil'd from the bright happy path 
Of manliness, and honour's noble ends. 
Thy cozening and wit shall cost thee much ; 
For thou must tilt for life, e'en with a priest. 

PHILIP. 

Thou purse-tongued priest ! The blaze of arms hath made 
An idle monk sing songs of chivalry. 
I'll pull that gleaming vizor down, sir priest, 
And make thee gnash thy tusks in gurgling gore. 

ABBOT. 

Now, vaunting chief, prepare ! Point well thy lance. 

PHILIP. 

Vain priest ! thy wrath is bubbling from thy throat, 
As some vile stream fed by dark Acheron, 
Reeking with death o'er all this beauteous earth : 
'Tis endless infamy to tilt with thee. 

ABBOT. 

Poor fool! The whirling wheels of Death are here ; 
His pawing steeds now wait to drag thy limbs 
Swift o'er the glassy surface of the air. 
Poor cavalier ! 

[Cries of victory ; Philip flies. 



Scene VI. — The Camp. Officers come in from Field. 

first officer. 
The rebels fly — the Prince has left the field ! 

SECOND OFFICER. 

Philip escapes ! As hunted fox he skims 
The field ; — his pallid face entreats for life. 

baliol, [a knight.~] 
Oh, ghastly sight ! — the track of slaughter's strewn 
With stained and broken armour, and in heaps 
Lie fiery foaming steeds and dying men ! 



192 



THE SPIRIT OF 



In one vast ruin England's children sink. 

Some yield to fortune, and regain their camps ; — 

Some to their ships a passage try to force. 

[Shouts in various quarters. 

SOLDIERS. 

Henry the King ! the King! 'tis victory! 
Victorious King ! the victory is thine ! 

king henry [in deep reverie ; aside.] 
Richard, 'tis thine ! this day has killed thy sire. 

[Aloud. 

Good friends ! good news I hear ; — this victory 
Will gladden thousand hearts on our lov'd isle. 

[Aside. 

Britain's pale bounds will blush with guilty shame, 
And some will weep for many years to come. 

william of warren, [a knight.] 
Good King, 'tis Fortune smiles — 'tis victory. 

KING HENRY. 

On you 'tis Fortune smiles — 'tis victory — 
But to thy King, who loves both friend and foe, 
'Tis woe ; — immeasurably deep it sinks ; 
No leech or healthful herb can gauge the wound ! 
But we must doff these royal woes, — and smile 
On all the valiant deeds of valiant men, 

[Music — a Cavalcade — a figure of Rural Beauty 
leading twelve Maidens dancing before the King 
— Nobles, Arundel, Breuse, Soully, Wal- 
lenge, Fitzbernard, Vaux and others assemble 
— The King talks with them whilst music plays, 
but looks pale and dejected — Music ceases. 

I sorrow much, my lords, that I am sad 
In midst of so much faithful joy ; and yet 
I love you much for this day's toil. I owe 
Far more than I can pay — but take my thanks. 

ARUNDEL. 

Dear Liege ! we give thee love for love, and thanks 
For thanks, but sorrow much our King is sad ; 



THE VATICAN. 



193 



Yet in these angry wars sad scenes for woe 
Cannot escape thy tender love. Here comes— 

[Bearers bring in bodies of Montgomery , Mow- 
brag, Vesey, and Duke de Bretagne. Funeral 
March playing. 

KING HENRY. 

Ah, ah ! it must be so. Bring in the dead. 
Their spirits watch us now, and share our joy. 
Give them their rightful place in this our camp ; — 
The loyal, noble soldier never dies. 
Place them around their King. — My friends, 
The crystal gates of heaven will open wide, 
When these three martial spirits enter there. 

[Pointing to Montgomery , Mowbray, and Vesey. 
E'en here they stand array'd in glory bright. 
Ye gallant souls ! this day from battle rest. 
Faithful have been your lives ; before your shades 
I kneel ! Inducibles I thought you once ; 
But ye have bled, in mercy to our foes. 

[Looks on the body of Mowbray. 

Though death hath dimm'd the fire, 'tis even now 
Not quite extinct ; the noble spirit fondly lurks, 
As if reluctant yet to leave these eyes^ 
Whence it was wont to break in lightning's flash* 
Such from their honour Death could not divide. 
Pale Shade ! accept thy Sovereign's sacred tears. 
Would that my crown, and all the laurels won 
In tented field and gallant tournament, 
Could purchase back that valiant breath of thine ! 

[Passes to the young Earl Montgomery, 

The light of glory circles this young brow, 
E'en as a halo round night's favourite star ! 
Oh ! I would give the rest of this dull life, 
To meet the cursed arm that rent this breast. 
Oh ! what a monster's plunge broke in that mail !• 
(A present to his sire at Wallingford.) 
Thus savage valour taints the soul of man. — = 
Thy native land will ne'er forget thy worth ; 
'Tis public sorrow when a hero dies. 
Illustrious youth ! accept thy Sovereign's woe. 

[Turns to the body of the venerable Sir R. Vesey. 

Ah, ah ! what here ? I thought thee by my side ; 



194 



THE SPIRIT OF 



My best, my earliest friend ! What reckless arm 
Has murdered thee ? Why didst thou trust thy age 
Among thy Sovereign's foes ? That hoary brow 
Tempted some coward traitor vile to strike, 
And make these gaping holes, and thus let forth 
The noble spirit from that gallant breast. 

[Takes the hand. 
This hand is scarcely cold. — Well, good old friend, 
Thy King can only sigh, and say farewell ! — 

[Approaches the body of the Duke de Bretagne, who 
had been spared by Henry. 

Sad scene of reckless tumult ! All now calm ! — ■ 
That haughty breast that lately heaved so high ! — 
Ah ! who can mourn thee now ? The rebel Prince 
W T ill spare no sigh for one who bled for him. 
Thy countrymen ? Ah ! what to them avails 
That noble thoughts, which might exalt the soul, 
And render life illustrious and loved, 
Were once the portion of this bleeding corse ? 
In spite of all its daring chivalry, 
That arm has found a traitor's grave at last. 
That soul was once a favoured spot, on which 
Delighted Heaven would shed its brightest beams; 
But dark Rebellion's planet came between, 
And all her glorious loyalty eclipsed ; 
Then left her in foul darkness base to sink. 

RANDOLPH DE GLANVILLE. 

Poor ghost! thy dumb attendance here yields pain 
And sorrow to thy King, who loved thee much, 
But may not mourn thee dead. 

king henry [turning again to the corse.~\ 
Inglorious fate ! 
I would forgive thee now, if thou couldst hear ; 
But we shall meet in some promiscuous crowd, 
When years of purgat'ry have passed away. 
There are within the soul harmonious strings, 
Which, howsoe'er the finger of rough Time 
May rudely snap thein, yet bright seraphs' hands 
Shall gather in again, and bid them chaunt 
To choral symphonies of heavenly harps. 



THE VATICAN. 



195 



So until then we part. Poor ghost, farewell ! 

Once bravest of the brave — Bretagne, farewell ! 

[Suddenly shrieks are heard; a female with dis- 
shevelled hair rushes in before the King, — the 
Mistress of the Duke de Bretagne. 

CHRISTABEL. 

'Tis here, 'tis here ! then rumour has been just. 

[Looking at the King severely. 
Some one has stolen the body of my lord ; 
His corslet and his brilliant mail of chain 
Have won the favour' that their lord had lost. 
"Whose share is this ? At any price I'll buy. 

[Her eyes darting at the King. 
Yes, King ! a royal price I'll even give. 
I know, the lust for gold, with other lusts, 
Have rendered royal honour much abused, 
Made many wars, and spilt much honest blood. 

KING HENRY. 

"What means this fair intruder in our camp ? 

CHRISTABEL. 

[Looking at Sir R. Glanville, and sneering. 
Perhaps it is the portion of Sir Ralph ? 
If so, I'll litigate his right — 'tis mine. 
And [Looking at the King. 

Heav'n forbids the mightiest here, to touch 
The sacred body of my murdered lord. 
Before the King of kings' eternal throne, 
High in the arched heavens, I'll plead my cause. 

WALLENGE. 

It is the mistress of the brave Bretagne. 

CHICHESTER. 

Our Liege, dear lady, feels thy sorrow much ; 
And freely grants, in this sad troubled hour, 
Thy dearest, amplest wish ; for he thy lord 
Had long and deeplv loved. 

o 2 



196 



THE SPIEIT OF 



CHRISTABEL. 

I have no lord. 
My lord is drown'd in that oblivious sleep, 
Which nought but the archangel's voice can break, 
When Death shall find his sceptre broke in twain. 
Oh, reverend father ! resignation teach. 
Dear mangled corse ! give me thy icy hand. [Takes the hand. 
The lustre of those orbs is ever veiled ; 
The font of thy enchanting eloquence 
Shall ne'er be oped again, until that day 
When Heav'n shall send its radiant ministers 
To roll away the stone, which wakeful guards 
Shall want the power to stay. Oh bitter loss ! 
Ambitious Death ! thou greedy, cruel thing ! 
The beautiful, the valiant, thou seizest first, — 
All that the heart holds dear, the mind respects, — 
Leaving these pallid forms our woe to soothe. 
Oh, breathless clay, once more delight my ear 
With the known accents of thy tender love ! 

[Becomes frantic. 
What passed, so awful, through my hollow ear ? 

[Shouts and stamps. 
Listen ! oh list, ye gentlemen ! That cry ! 
They kill the Duke Bretagne! — 'tis Death! I hear 
His low sepulchral voice. Hark ! hark ! 'tis Death 1 
I'll tear his bony arms in twain, and stamp 
Upon his pulseless heart. But hark, my Lord ! 
Who kills my Lord Bretagne, now murders me. 
It is — it is his well known voice I hear ! 

[Moves round the camp, stooping her ear, with idiot 
vacant stare. 

I come — I come. Where — where is he ? Whence comes 
That voice ? Pardon me, gentle lords — my Liege — 

[Recovers. 

But why, alas, should I disturb that peace 
With earthly sighs, that have no power to save ? 
Thine is a state too pure for mortal love. 
Ah, cruel Death ! thou 'st ta'en away my all, 
And left me joyless, hopeless, and alone. 
Will no one help the wretched Christabel ? 

[Becomes again frantic. 
Where is the King ? I seek his mighty throne ; 



THE VATICAN. 



197 



To him I'll plead, and ask my murdered lord. 

[Walks up and down; then stops before the 
Bishop of Chichester. 
Father, I want to see my lord again, 
Before lie goes into the battle field : 
I want to warn him of the rebel Prince, 
And those false priests who at our castle supped. 
They urged my Lord to turn against his King ; — 
They said they were the Pope's commissioners. 
Oh ! I would fondly whisper many things 
To soothe his racking brain. — Dost hear, good priest ? 
Is this a time convenient for my lord 
To list the tale of faithful messenger 
Come from his castle straight ? 

CHICHESTER. 

Lady, your lord 
Is now away — in heaven, perhaps. He's dead ! 

CHRISTABEL. 

Dead? dead? dead— who? The duke, my lord ? What, 
dead? 

He left his couch while visions strange did flit 
And play their antics in my sleeping mind, 
Ere e'en the lid of morn had 'gan to ope. 
Yes — no ! — -just now his pillow is yet warm ; 
His precious breath still lies, like fragrant myrrh, 
Upon our happy couch. Duke de Bretagne ! 

[Calls out aloud. 
Let heralds sound the cry, Duke de Bretagne ! 

[Turns round, and sees the body of the Duke being 
removed by Bearers out of the Camp. 
Stop, stop ! I see my lord is taken sick, — 
I must attend his couch, - — must nurse, — must watch, — 
Or else those dark-brow'd knights may murder him — 
Murder him ! I must go too — go too. 

[Follows the Bearers ; the King turns pale. 

CHICHESTER. 

My Liege, this sight has touched your royal breast 
With painful sympathy. Let 's change the scene ! 

KING HENRY. 

Sad withered garlands Triumph now must wear! 
My lords, some solemn duties yet remain ; 



198 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Let Love, in Sorrow's garb, attend these friends 
To their last silent home. Let all our dead 
Have honour, love, and ceremonies too. 
May we die deaths as honourably bright ! 
I sorrow, friends, to leave you in such plight. 

[Henry leaves — Trumpets sound — Exeunt omnes. 



Scene VII. — King Henry's Bedchamber. 
King Henry and Nigel de Sackville. 

king henr"¥ [just tvaki;ig.~\ 
What, Sackville ? Art thou Sackville ? I had thought 
Thee dead. Is this another world ? — or what ? 

sackville. 

My Liege, your sleep seems to have been perturbed. 

KING HENRY. 

I've pass'd a weary night ; such burning thirst 
And racklike pains I've felt ! whilst dream on dream 
Successively my vexed spirit crossed, 
Until with piteous groans it shrunk and quail'd, 
As it material parts and organs had. 
There once came crawling over me, with talons 
Of odour vile, all, all those servile things 
Which erst would shrink, and their mean selves abase 
Where'er I trod. They eddied round me fast, 
Like wild and gathering current when restrained, 
Laden with things offensive and corrupt, 
Striving this soul t' engulf — Revolting thought ! 
In second dream, I seem'd descending fast 
A dissonant cataract, and beneath me saw 
Th' interminable abyss that foamed below. 
Awhile a crag or jutting rock delayed 
My progress ; but relaxing soon, I fell 
(So wild and strange are sleep's imaginings) 
Headlong into a dire, pestiferous lake, 
Such as the fam'd Avernus is described, 
Whose magic waters form the gate of hell. 
With raving, maddening plunge I once arose, 
E'en to the water's face ; when Becket's hand, 
His bony fingers fretted o'er with gold, 
And glittering with fiery sapphire stones, 



THE VATICAN. 



199 



Fell on me like the universe, and down 

It drove me headlong with the lightning's speed. 

I pierc'd all space, until I reach'd at last 

The deep abyss, where, in black horror, broods 

Eternal Midnight with her raven wings ; 

And there I met the dark and angry Priest. 

SACKVILLE. 

Though this is but a dream, — mere pictures drawn 
By truant Fancy when grave Reason sleeps. 

KING HENRY. 

Yet, yet 'tis ominous : all now is lost. 
At some convenient time, I once had thought 
To bring A'Becket to a full account, 
And ripping up the surface smooth assumed 
By him of late, discover all his plots. 

SACKVILLE. 

But thy confiding soul postponed that day. 

KING HENRY. 

'Twas thus I was deceived. And even now 
Some hired assassin may here raise his steel 
To pierce this wall of life ; I may be tracked 
In this faint hour by that rebellious Priest, 
Or some dull ghost the Vatican has hired 
To plague my spirit in this nether world ! 
Perhaps that flaunting cavalier, my son, 
That mad crusader, — may now seek me out. 
Oh Death ! thou prince — thou monarch ! quickly come. 
The thing I lose, I yield : 'tis a wan good— 
A painted property ; although it was 
My being's end and aim ; for all my hopes, 
My sorrows, joys, and my intense desires — 
My yearning thoughts — have but one object known, 
To hold in firm embrace what now I own 
I cannot hold. 

ostard [holding a narcotic] 

My Liege, your servant waits, 
And prays your Majesty will take this now : 
'Twill stay that fervent tide which raves within, 
Perhaps, my Lord. 



200 



THE SPIRIT OF 



SACKVILLE. 
Ah, yes ! give me the cup. 
Your Majesty has need; pray take this draught, 
It may give heart to life, or stay e'en death. 
God grant your Majesty may rally soon. 

KING HENRY. 

'Tis now my good confessor should enforce 
His last pure homily on th' eternal world 
I soon must visit. Yes ! my mortality 
Must pack up all, and the soul's vessel store 
With all that may sustain her mystic course 
When she shall leave life's little bubbling stream, 
To enter on that ocean infinite, 
From which no voyager has yet returned 
To warn us of its rocks or whirlpools dire, 
Alas ! all habits loved and joyed in once 
Are wearing fast, and I shall leave this trunk 
Bare to the stormy and insulting world. 
Yes, yes ! I see the spindle now is full ; 
Stern Atropos lifts up her instrument, 
My thread to cut. Ostard, let me borne 
To th' holy place, my spirit there to yield. 



Scene VIII. — Interior of Cathedral. 
henry. 

Stop, bearers, stop ! Ah ! Randolph, faithful friend ! 
Here comes the weary dried-up husk, to seek 
A safe receptacle for royal dust. 
Is there no pandect, Randolph, for the dead, 
Which strictly will prevent the bones of kin 
To clank with mischievous abuttals rank ? 
'Tis this destroys the peace e'en of the grave. 
Now try the might and power of Rome itself, 
And ask for me a grave intact from all— 
From all rebellious kin and crafty priests. 

MAPES. 

Learned justiciary, our Liege to thee 
Does speak. 



THE VATICAN. 



201 



KING HENRY. 

A wholesome heart thou hast, and true ; 
Too full for utterance. 

RANDOLPH. 

My Liege ! my King ! 
Good Master — ah ! my bitter, solemn woes 
I cannot speak ; and on all other points 
Am dumb ; and would be so till the great trump 
Shall break Death's sleep. 

KING HENRY. 

Well, I forgive thee this; 
Another time will be, when stammering tongues, 
Released from bondage — Ah ! Another time — 
Another — Ah ! ah ! ah ! [Slightly faints. 

MAPES. 

Most mighty King, 
We heard thee say — Another time. 

KING HENRY. 

Yes, yes ! 

Where was I ? I did say Another time. 

But yet it boots not. Where 's my chaplain now ? 

That draught, — give me to drink that freezing draught. 

OSTARD. 

'Tis here, 'tis here, my Liege ; it will revive, 
And, for a time, great potency will give ; [Aside. 
But then the torch of life must fail. 

[King drinks in frantic hastp. 

MAPES. 

My Liege, 

We hope, finds comfort now. 

KING HENRY. 

As much, my friend, 
As this cold world can grant to one who falls 
So low so suddenly. If Heaven me more 
Intends, then Heaven that more will grant ; and so 
The past will rectify. God pardon those 



202 



THE SPIEIT OF 



That murder kings ! And I do execute 

That will, and pardon all who murder me. 

I pardon all the guiles of ruthless Rome, 

And all those deeds by which I am undone ; 

And yet I would not lengthen life so long 

That I should Richard in that prayer include — 

That recreant rebel ! Yes ! so far, so far, 

I have been king. Now I this golden woe 

Renounce for one who hates me : yes ! 'tis thine, 

Richard — 'tis Heaven ordains this woe to thee — 

To be a king ; and with unnatural heart 

To live no natural age, but by mischance 

To die, as ingrate, cursing life and death, 

And heaven itself. [Wanders.] 

Or are these truant fiends, 
Who, having snapped the chains that bound them fast 
In fiery torture, come to minister 
Some fervent anguish to my soul? Stay, stay! 
I hear them dashing through the bubbling tide 
Of heaving Styx. Perhaps these messengers 
Convey some secret to my vexed soul. 
But I who Ve lov'd the rights of man, the rights 
Of fiends will now respect. An earthly king 
May subject be of hell. Yet herding thus 
With monsters curdles all my blood, and drives 
My soul to every corner of her manse. 
Perhaps it is dark Chaos' progeny, 
Revelling with joy to see th' approach 
Of Henry, — warrior — king; who e'en in death 
Will look undauntedly. I cannot blench 
At what I see not. 

glanville [aside]. 

Ah ! poor King ! — Much wrong 
He hath received, which thus distracts his mind ; 
Or else a better Christian never lived ! 

KING HENRY. 

Before the altar place me : — slowly step. 
Here my last journey ends on earth ; — and now 
Another waits me, where attendance gross 
I may not bear : spirits alone will be 
My courtiers there — where king, and baron bold, 
And priests, by paths respective and alone, 



THE VATICAN. 



203 



Enter. — Sigh not for me, Randolph. Well 

I know death's presage, and have often seen 

Its consummation, when on Summer's eve 

The battle-field I've paced, and viewed around 

Its trophies breathing their last piteous sigh, 

E'er the hoarse wolf tears from the crunched bones 

The muscles scarcely stiff in death. 'Tis now 

That voyage I must go, and yielding up 

That mystic secret, hopeless hope, I'll peer 

Into dark Death's domains, as quite intent 

To stay. — His ebon majesty shall find 

In me a loyal subject ; and I pray 

At meeting to prove graceful, and subdued 

To meekest confidence, that in the world 

To which I go, there consolations are 

Unknown on earth. This world is but a prison 

Of niggard bounds ; — but the chill land of Death 

Has regions vast and limitless ; and thus 

It is that spirits take a grade, a step 

Towards the ethereal, eternal life. 

If a new skein of life were granted now, 

How could I use it ? What is yet undone ? 

The great Supreme above will punish sin ; 

And noble Honour has my praise ; but yet 

There are revolting muscles in this frame 

Which writhe in serpent forms, as worms that strive 

For life. This is Rebellion's last attempt. 

Alas, alas ! — they elbow their poor mate, 

And urge the spirit to finish work. They seemed 

In happier times bye gone so well prepared 

To punish insults and dire wrongs— oh yes, 

And all that cowards ever dared to do. 

The heavy wrongs which Rome has done thy King 

Make e'en the blow of Death to seem but light. 

To die, would be severe calamity, 

But that I know Death's arm clanks like my own. 

Death is a vassal, and his ghastly train 

He leads but to the confines of a land 

He may not, cannot enter. Yes ! 'tis there 

The important change is made ; there mortals shift, 

And awful immortality put on. 

Yet ye may riddles in that state resolve : 

Perhaps a sleep of countless years must pass : 



204 



THE SPIRIT OF 



Perhaps the mortal parts there undergo 

Transitions mystic and arrangements dread! 

Perhaps for thrice ten thousand years to come, 

Filthy and shapeless things of odour rank 

Crawl in and out the avenues of sense, 

Holding their riotous festivity 

On all the atoms which dull Time has left 

For slow corruption in the silent grave. 

These things will make the heart-strings creak. Geoffrey, 

They say thou art not mine. I say thou art, 

My son ! the best belov'd of all. Geoffrey, 

Give me thy hand. There in thy honest palm 

I place this envied ring. Precious it was : 

It sparkles now as bright as it was wont 

In court and tournament — thou faithful gem! 

There, Geoffrey, take the gem — wear it for one 

Who loved thee much, but now must leave. Geoffrey — 

I may not stay to tell thee all I would — 

Upon thy filial arm I'll muse the rest, 

As on a summer's eve the lazy serf 

Sinks into wholesome rest. — Yet — yet — I wish — 

[Sinking in the arms of Geoffrey. 

Randolph [leaning to the King.~\ 
Thou valiant King — farewell — farewell — farewell ! 
What can amend this loss ? 'tis woe for love. 
Dear King ! awake once more. 

king henry [wandering]. 

It may be so — 
Yes, yes ; — Rebellion stood in his dark path. 
The Primate, too ! how cruel 'twas of him ! 
And so he sought my blood. Now Death becomes 
Importunate, — a tyrant too. — But now I go 
Where Death's power ends, to reach that pinnacle, 
To which this timid, fluttering, anxious thing, 
This little veering gossamer, ascends. 
Death has no power, no magic charm, to break 
The solemn cloud which circles round that peak 
Whose sanctity by gorgeous seraphim 
Is kept. O Death, I call thee up thy part 
To take, the vulture's share. 'Twill soon corrupt 
And nauseate. Farewell — farewell to all! — 
Sense is receding now : — of sight and speech 



THE VATICAN. 



The ways are clogged : — to hear is needless now. 
E'en the twelfth hour is spent. I will not filch 
A moment, while this clay obedient wears 
The pallid hue of Death. 

GRYME. 

It is the dew 
Of the first morn in the eternal world. 

HENRY. 

See, see! through every passage now he creeps ! 
He scents the last, last fortress ! — Look, he 's in ! 
He 's in the breach ! The ramparts all are scaled. 
It is the priest, the black revengeful priest ! 
See where he goes ! — He bears the cross before. 
He stamps upon my heart ! — tis he, tis he, 
Relentless! Ah! "'tis Death ! the tyrant Death ! 



APPENDIX. 



No. I. 

Forshal, in his Notes to the Tarious Travels, gives a description of 
three kinds of leprosy. It appears by Dr. Mason Good, that a 
variety of recipes were collected from the use of fruits, plants, and 
roots, from which the first principles of medicine were collated ; but 
that even amongst the comparatively advanced nations, such as the 
Egyptians and Babylonians, there were no physicians ; but the custom 
was to expose the sick in public places, that those who passed by 
might be induced to communicate the processes or medicines which 
had been useful to them in similar cases. In process of time, patients 
were taken to the temples, not only as places of public resort, but in 
the expectation of assistance from the god of the temple. The temple 
of Serapis was often resorted to for that purpose by the Egyptians, 
and that of iEsculapius by the Greeks. Thus the matter very gradu- 
ally came into the hands of the priests, who at length obtained vast 
information by tending the various cases brought to their respective 
temples. The priests, or rather the lower class of them, kept a 
register in the temple of all cases, and the remedies applied. The 
cures were necessarily very many, and the glory was given to the god 
to whom the temple might be dedicated. Herodotus says there were 
physicians for separate parts of the body — for the eye, the ear, the 
teeth, the stomach, &c. It is generally agreed that the Egyptian 
priests were the first to bring into a system the loose facts which 
former ages had collected. 

It is thought by some writers, not perhaps without reason, that the 
worship of iEsculapius, the god of physic, under the form of a serpent, 
was derived from some tradition concerning this animal, that the sight 
of it made the bruised whole. 



No. II. 

The titles assumed by the Papal chief were many, and some were 
titles which belong to Christ, such as the Bridegroom of the Church, 
the Keeper of God's Vineyard, &c. &c. ; but the mere title of Pope 
was originally common to all bishops, being derived from the Greek 
word signifying Father. Gregory VIII., in a Council held at Rome, 



208 



APPENDIX. 



declared the title applicable to the Bishop of Rome only. The 
general name of Pope seems scarcely enviable, as there were many 
most infamous and unnatural beings who owned that title : so many 
were murderers, and all blasphemers. The character of John XIII., 
Alexander III., Julius III., Gregory VII., John XVIII., Urban VI., 
John XXIII., Julius II., Alexander VI., Benedict IX., stand out 
from the awful list as exceeding all others in polluting crimes and im- 
pious conduct. Baronius, a Catholic writer, calls John XV. a thief 
and a robber ; and, speaking of the Popes of the ninth and tenth cen- 
turies, he says, " Vile strumpets then domineered in Rome, by whose 
will sees were changed, and bishoprics given away, and their lovers, 
pseudo-Popes, were thrust into Peter's chair, as the wages of their 
prostitution. Alexander VI., from the earliest age, was disorderly 
and infamous. He obtained the papal chair by bribes and false- 
hood. He was guilty of poisoning, simony, and false swearing, of 
reckless debauchery, and incest with his own daughter. Poisoned 
wine, which he had prepared for certain cardinals, whose riches in- 
duced him to attempt to murder them, was given him by mistake, and 
thus he ended his disgraceful career. The Pope claims sovereign pre- 
eminence over all civil potentates. Pope Urban II. speaks of tem- 
poral sovereigns thus : " It is a thing abominable that the hands of 
those who created God their Creator in virtue of their character, 
should be bound to the ignominy of being drudges to those who are 
polluted with filthy and dishonest handlings." 



No. III. 

" Adrian, servant of the servants of God, to his Son in Christ Jesus, 
Henry, King of England. 
" Sends Greeting, and Apostolical Benediction. The desire your 
Magnificence expresses to advance the glory of your name on earth, 
and to obtain in heaven the price of eternal happiness, deserves, no 
doubt, great commendations. As a good Catholic Prince, you are 
very careful to enlarge the borders of the Church; to spread the know- 
ledge of the truth among the barbarous and the ignorant ; and to 
pluck up vice by the roots in the field of the Lord ; — and in order to 
this you apply to us for countenance and direction. We are confident, 
therefore, that by the blessing of the Almighty, your undertaking will 
be crowned with a success suitable to the noble motive which sets you 
upon it ; for whatever is taken in hand from a principle of Faith and 
Religion, never fails to succeed. It is certain, as you yourself ac- 



APPENDIX. 



209 



knowledge — Ireland, as well as all other islands which have the hap- 
piness to be enlightened by the Sun of Righteousness, and have 
submitted to the doctrines of Christianity, are unquestionably St. 
Peter's right, and belong to the jurisdiction of the Roman Church. 
We judge therefore, after maturely considering the enterprise you 
propose to us, that it will be proper to settle in that island, colonies 
of the faithful who may be well pleasing to God. You have advertised 
us, most dear son in Christ, of your design of an expedition into 
Ireland, to subject the island to just laws, and to root out vice which 
has long flourished there. You promised to pay us out of every house, 
and to maintain the rights of the Church without the least detriment 
or diminution. Upon which promise, giving a ready ear to your 
request, We consent and allow that you make a descent in that island, 
and enlarge the bounds of the Church, to check the progress of immo- 
rality, to reform the manners of the natives, and to promote the 
growth of virtue and the Christian religion. We exhort you to do 
whatever you think proper to advance the honour of God and the 
salvation of the people, whom we charge to submit to your jurisdic- 
tion, and own you for their sovereign lord : provided always, that the 
rights of the Church are inviolably preserved, and the Peter-pence 
duly paid. If, therefore, you think fit to put your design in execution, 
labour above all things to improve the inhabitants of the island in 
virtue. Use both your own, and the endeavours of such as you shall 
judge worthy to be employed in this work; that the Church of God be 
enriched more and more, that religion flourish in the country, and that 
the things tending to the honour of God and salvation of souls be in 
such manner disposed as may entitle you to an eternal reward in 
heaven, and an immortal fame on earth. 



No. IV. 

Walter Mapes was canon of the churches of St. Paul's, London, and 
of Salisbury. He was a great favorite of Henry II., arid wrote many 
satirical poems under the assumed name of Gollias. He is well known 
to the lovers of romance of the middle age. His satire Was directed 
against the frivolities and debaucheries of the priesthood. His friend 
Giraldus Cambrensis refers to him as the first wit of the age, yet 
complains of his satire against the sacred person of the Pope. These 
poems are all collected (by Thomas Wright, Esq.) in one volume, 
printed by the Camden Society in 1841 : most are translated. 

The spirit which gave rise to these is well depicted in the chronicles 

p 



210 



APPENDIX. 



of M. Paris. It is very probable these satires had some share in 
producing the Reformation ; for it is certain they contain a powerful 
philippic against the abuses of the ecclesiastical body. The notion 
that Walter Mapes was a jovial toper, is without evidence. His wit, 
and love for light and elegant literature, probably induced him to 
assume the name Gollias. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries 
there is frequent use of the term Goliards, who were merry buffoons, 
attending at the tables of the rich barons, for the purpose of amusing 
the guests ; and this may have suggested the conceit ; but the name 
taken by Mapes is a mere fanciful appellation given to the imaginary 
personage who was to be a travesty or burlesque representative of the 
priests, and the instrument of holding up to ridicule the rank vices of 
the various members of the Romish Church. 



No. V. 

Zachary took France from Childeric III. Gregory VII. excom- 
municated Henry IV. of Germany, and absolved his subjects from all 
allegiance. Pope Innocent III. sent Paudulf to take the crown from 
the head of John, King of England. Pius IV. published a bull 
against Elizabeth, thus : " He that reigneth on high, to whom is 
given all power in heaven and in earth, hath committed the one Holy 
Apostolic Church, out of which there is no salvation, to me only on 
earth — namely, to Peter, Prince of the Apostles, and to the Roman 
Pontiff, his successor. This one he hath constituted prince over all 
nations, and all kingdoms, that he might pluck up and destroy, dissi- 
pate and ruin, plant and build." He afterwards "deprives the Queen 
of her pretended right, and absolves all nobles and subjects from all 
duty and allegiance." 



No. VI. 

Alexander VL, when Cardinal, lived in notorious concubinage with 
Vonazza, a Roman lady, by whom he had four sons and one daughter. 

Caesar Borgia, the second son, was, notwithstanding his known de- 
pravity, created a cardinal. The other sons were supplied with riches 
to support their habitual debaucheries, and titles of honour to defend 
them from summary punishment, when they violated the rights and 
feelings of their fellow-creatures. 

Lucretia was the only daughter, and seemed of true kin to her 
wicked parent. She married a Spanish nobleman ; but, not liking him, 



APPENDIX. 



211 



obtained a divorce through the influence of her father. She then 
gave her hand to the Prince of Pesaro, from whom she was also 
divorced ; she then married a natural son of the King of Naples, but 
she released herself from this contract by causing her husband to be 
murdered. Lucretia then married the Duke of Ferrara. Her general 
conduct was so infamous and degrading, that it awakened horror in 
all members of society ; but dread of her skill in disposing of her 
reprovers by assassination reduced them to silence. 

The Duke of Calabria having refused to allow his daughter to 
marry, this vicar of Christ became impassioned, and evinced his 
irritation by entering into an alliance with Louis Sforza, the usurper 
of Milan, and joined him in inviting the king of France to seize the 
throne of Naples. The king of France disappointed this vicar of 
peace by accepting the invitation, which was made merely to alarm 
the duke of Calabria; whereupon Alexander privately proposed to 
the duke, that he would secure Naples to the reigning family if he 
would consent to the marriage of his daughter. 

The sudden death of Ferdinand surrounded Alexander with new 
anxieties ; he used various dishonourable stratagems for the conserv- 
ation of his power. At one time he levied troops, and invited Charles 
to become the champion of Christendom against the Turks. At 
another time he joined Alphonso, informing the French ambassador 
that it was the duty of the vicar of Christ to prevent the effusion of 
blood ; and a cardinal's hat was offered to the favourite counsellor of 
the king, if he would dissuade Charles from the expedition. Alexander 
was thus decoyed into difficulties by his own double dealing, which 
induced him to adopt other frauds ; he more closely attached himself 
to the king of Naples, and sought the friendship of one he had sorely 
injured, — viz the Emperor Maximilian, and obtained his aid by assur* 
ing him that his crown was in danger ; and then coaxed Ferdinand the 
Catholic to employ against the French the money raised in Spain to 
defray the expense of a crusade against the Turks, and at the same 
time he proposed a secret treaty of alliance with Sultan Bayezid. 
This Mussulman being desirous to obtain the high sanction of the 
Vatican for the murder of his own brother, offered to give Alexander 
three hundred thousand ducats if he would employ means ; whereupon 
this just priest agreed to use proper means for securing the assassina- 
tion of the Sultan's brother, who was accordingly promptly assassi- 
nated. By the above frauds the brave and generous Duke of Calabria 
was compelled to return without the satisfaction of a battle. 

During the administration of the Borgias, the dagger and the poi- 
soned bowl were the common means used to remove every one whom 

p 2 



212 



APPENDIX. 



this wicked family regarded with jealousy. The foul Lucretia com- 
mitted incest with both her brothers, the Duke of Gandia and the 
Cardinal ; which causing jealousy in the mind of the Cardinal, he 
added fratricide to incest, and within a few days from that awful 
transaction, the Cardinal Caesar was taken into favour, and re- 
turned to his crimes with fresh vigour. 

It would seem that history can scarcely report any thing worse ; and 
we would stop our pen, but we think there are very important political 
principles involved in this relation; and although the policy of Roman- 
ism may have changed its attitude, and now aim at a different form of 
government, yet supreme power is its object, although that power 
may not be so concentrated in the executive of the Vatican. The Pon- 
tiff conciliated the French king, by aiding his divorce from a virtuous 
though not very handsome woman, — viz. the daughter of Louis XI., 
and allowing him to marry Anne of Brittany, the beautiful widow of 
Charles VIII. For this Louis created Caesar Borgia Duke of Valen- 
tinois. Thus passion and policy cast a great and chivalric monarch 
into the meshes and toils of the Vatican. Alexander raised a very 
large sum by sale of indulgences, under the pretence of aiding the wars 
against the Turks, but in truth for the use of Caesar Borgia, who was 
aiming to subdue Romagna. Capua was taken by the Cardinal Caesar 
Borgia, who entered the city to violate all forms of decency, and 
selected forty of the fairest nuns of the city, as a part of his share of 
the booty. 

The earthly potentates were constantly being deceived and injured 
by the intrigues and falsehood of the Vatican ; but they were disposed 
to adopt the equivocal explanations vouchsafed to them, rather than 
defy its unmitigating vengeance. But Alexander required no apo- 
logy for a policy which aggrandized himself or his family. Caesar 
Borgia ruled Romagna with more moderation than was expected, but 
the Italian lords deemed that but an artifice and prelude to some 
wholesale aggression. 

The jealous eye of Caesar detected the anxiety of those Italian 
lords ; wmereupon he consulted Cardinal D'Amboise (for whom he had 
obtained the profitable office of legate in France) who approved of his 
resolution to destroy these noblemen, the flower of the city ; and in a 
few days there remained but few who had escaped the sword, the 
gibbet, or poison. It should be observed, that at this time the King of 
France was subdued by fear of the Vatican ; and although Caesar Borgia 
and his father had determined to turn their arms against Louis, they 
induced him to place his treasures under their controul, upon a pretence 
that they would save the kingdom of Naples from becoming the prey of 



APPENDIX. 



213 



the Spaniards. The Spaniards under Gonsalvo had triumphed in Na- 
ples, and caused the Duke de Nemours to seek a most disastrous flight. 

These changes alarmed Alexander, and he felt that nothing but an 
immense treasury could now correct these disorders, and secure the 
station and power of himself and family ; and it was with the greatest 
anxiety he waited the success of an artful and cruel plot, by which he 
hoped to secure ample finances. His plot was, to poison all the rich 
cardinals (most of whom had purchased their caps of him at immense 
sums), and then, under an ecclesiastical regulation, he would be entitled 
to their property and the revenues of their sees. He sent several 
flasks of wine to the cardinal of Corneto, in whose house the holy list 
of cardinals was to sup. The servant was ordered not to permit any 
body to touch the wine ; and this atrocious priest thought it would be 
kept until supper, for the sacred lips of the cardinals; but Alexander and 
his son Csesar Borgia coming early to the place, received from the hand 
of a servant a cup of this poisoned wine, of which Alexander drank 
freely ; but detecting the mistake, he lived only long enough to prevent 
his son taking a second sip. Immediately after this, the father reeled 
in agony, and died in a few hours. The son suffered excruciating 
pain; and though he survived, so potent was the poison, that the small 
portion he took nearly killed him, and he lost both his skin and his hair. 

It is thus that history requires we should describe this specimen of 
those called by the Council of Trent " The successors of St. Peter- 
Princes of the Apostles — and Vicars of Jesus Christ ! " 

Though the death of Alexander VI. spread great joy through Rome, 
yet the only person who had preached against the sins of this wicked 
family — viz. Savanorala — was, on account of this his bold and patriotic 
conduct, brought to trial, convicted of heresy, and put to death. 



No. VII. 

On Henry's return to England, he ascended the throne with a firm 
step; and all men saw that his resolution was to punish the wicked, and 
protect the weak, and rule all with that strong nerve with which nature 
had gifted him. He was hailed by the English as the descendant of 
their ancient Saxon line. Immediately upon the coronation, the new 
bride was conducted to the King's palace at Bermondsey, which was 
then a pastoral village, although partaking of the Flemish character. 
These were highly cultivated lands, with their smooth and velvet 
meads, bounded by the fast flowing Thames. At that time the Old 
Temple was ornamented with its beautiful garden, and the banks of 
the river were studded with the dwellings of the nobility. 



214 



APPENDIX. 



When Henry married the accomplished Eleonora, she had just at- 
tained her thirty-first year, whilst Henry was in his twenty-first year. 
At an early period of the career of Henry II., ambition taught him to 
regard all danger and fatigues as the flowers which were indigenous 
in the path to glory and dominion, in which he must make many sa- 
crifices. 

But a few days after his marriage with the fascinating Eleonora, 
he left her insinuating loveliness to seek the face of his enemies. It 
might be said of him, that w T hen he knew he required sleep, he only 
took that rest which restored his body to its perfect powers ; but he 
never slumbered, or folded his arms. Every thing that sustained the 
comfort of his people, or the honour of royalty, was now under his 
own eye ; indeed, the good order of cities, the improvement of agri- 
culture, manufactures, and trade, occupied a just portion of the 
mind of this mighty and chivalrous being. He was a king: he claimed 
not to be a delegate of Heaven, or heir to all earthly sovereignty ; but 
he bowed to listen to the sighs and wishes of a misgoverned and noble 
people; and thus, by duly respecting their comforts and his own dig- 
nity, he formed the model of a monarchy which was destined to 
generate principles that have formed a part of the present peace and 
happiness of England. 

That he might be temperate and energetic at all times, he knew 
that he must keep his body under, and ofttimes exercised a self-denial 
both in eating and drinking, which astonished his courtiers. In his 
dress he regarded all ornament as an incumbrance and an effeminate 
association, which might, in the hour or strife or danger, become a 
hindrance : this is too often disregarded from its minuteness, or fas- 
cination ; but has in some signal instances given that little balance 
of advantage to an antagonist, which has turned, in the person of the 
leader, the scale of fortune against nations long revered for their mu- 
nicipal wisdom and warlike power. Yet it must not be assumed that 
he was ignorant or regardless how much the mass, the herding mul- 
titude, are affected by splendid equipage and gorgeous display ; but he 
ruled them by superior and more majestic powers. He was not 
unaware that the soft eye of woman delighted to bend over brilliant 
dress and elegant ornament ; but his manly and dignified person, 
his expressive and serene eyes, soon procured a preference in woman's 
heart, for one whose knightly fortune and warlike successes had become 
as the living romance of those romantic times. 

The history of his gallantries seems rather impervious and indistinct; 
and some historians have said they throw a shadow on his honour and 
manliness of character. Indeed it is to be feared that his lust for 
beauty produced many enemies and detracting factions. Although 



APPENDIX. 



215 



the softer passions, such as love, may give fervour and energy to many 
of the actions of life, and without them our nature seems gloomy and 
uninteresting ; yet this great king most frequently governed them as 
servitors, to bow under the dark and lofty banner of Ambition. He 
well knew that to become the too docile subject of several passions, 
was to distract the attributes of the mind in their inherent action, 
and to destroy the powers of that body which should be as the com- 
panion of the spirit in all its earthly exaltations. Therefore neither 
Rosamond the Fair,* nor the handsome Stafford maiden, nor all that is 
lovely in woman or flattering in man, seemed likely to seduce the 
mind of Henry from the great vocation of ambition, and the leading 
objects of his life. Yet, alas ! there are lines and pages in the history 
of this great monarch, which include incidents derogatory to the 
general distinction which he attained for himself. But perhaps no 
instance is so definite and detracting to the honour of Henry II. as that 
of his love for Alice, the intended bride of his son Richard; and, if the 
historian Brampton may be relied upon, there was, in this ungoverned 
attachment, some justification for Richard's rebellion ; and this weak- 
ness seems to have been one of the causes of the sudden ruin and pre- 
mature death of this mighty king. Indeed the rhymes of Piers of 
Langtoft are very peculiar, quaintly describing the dispute between 
Philip, the brother of Alice, and Richard Cceur de Lion, after his ac- 
cession. For it will be remembered that Richard did not marry Alice, 
but the beautiful and accomplished Berengaria of Navarre. 



* Rosamond had two sons by Henry II., both gallant, spirited and 
noble-minded men — viz. Geoffrey Bishop of Lincoln, and William 
Longsword Earl of Salisbury. It is remarkable that Geoffrey was 
more dutiful and affectionate than any of his legitimate offspring. 
It was about the year 1148 that Henry commenced his attachment to 
Fair Rosamond, daughter to Lord Clifford. The anxiety which he 
must have had, in the progress of his life, to conceal the amour from 
the high-spirited Eleanor of Guienne, is consistent with Brampton's 
Tale of the Woodstock Bower, and Rosamond's Death by poison. 
We know not exactly when this fair lady died, but we are told that 
her body was found near Godstow Nunnery. The tomb of Rosamond 
was lighted by many wax tapers, and shaded by a gay canopy. In 
1300 the Bishop of Lincoln (St. Hugh) affected to be disgusted — his 
words were, " Dig up the body, and bury her out of the church ; for 
after all what was she but a harlot ! Rapin intimates that Eleanor 
dispatched Fair Rosamond. The conspiracy of Eleanor and her sons, 
John and Edward, rather favour the idea that Rosamond was destroyed 
by the Queen during Henry's absence in Normandy. King John 
raised a tomb to her memory, with this inscription : — 
" The tomb doth here enclose 
The world's most beauteous rose," &c. 



216 



APPENDIX. 



" Then spake King Philip, 

And in grief said, 
My sister Alice 

Is now forsaken. 
Since one of more riches 

Of Navarre thou hast taken. 
When King Richard understood 

What King Philip had sworn, 
Before the clergy he stood, 

And proved on that morn 
That Alice to his father 

A child had borne, 
Which his sire, King Hem; 

Held for his own; 
A maiden child it was, 

And now dead it is ; 
This was a great trespass, 

And against my own wille, 
If I Alice take." 

Yet no gentleman of the age excelled him in real politeness, for the 
" suaviter in modo " and " fortiter in re " were well developed in his 
character. His conversation was popular and lively, and well abounded 
with amenities and tolerance. His memory was good, and supplied a 
constant spring of varied and interesting facts, which he associated 
with that singular adroit eloquence with which he graced all he said. 
He was an ardent and faithful student, Peter of Blois records that 
his companions were men of erudition and science, and when with them 
he proved that his knowledge must have been gained by long and 
patient study. For, unlike most princes and grandees of this world's 
theatre, he cultivated his mind, not for show, or mere protection from 
the insolence of the ignorant, but as a friend in severe trials, or hours 
of ease ; and when the glory of fortune cast its beams on him, it was 
reflected with increased lustre by the object it glowed upon. With 
his intimate friends he lived on terms of sociality and condescension. 
His notions of decorum were those which nature and a noble and great 
mind dictated. The man — the spirit, we should say — who could con- 
quer nations, lead armies, dictate to and counsel with senators, raise 
the meritorious and humble, quell the rich and arrogant, forgive a 
thousand injuries, love as a romantic being, face death in any form — 
was not likely to do any thing very inconsistent with the'true pride of 
royal state. Perhaps the form of a settled court would frown on such 
condescension as he ever evinced ; but the frame and fashion of courts 
have changed, and may not, for any proper object, be now compared 



APPENDIX. 



217 



to the courts of the princes of the middle age ; for whilst the one 
commands our love and respect, and the other our admiration, yet 
their nature and habits bear little analogy. Henry II. knew how to 
maintain the honour of his country in camp and field ; no journey was 
too long, no enterprise too dangerous ; but at his table he smiled on 
all honourable men as his equals, though he never contaminated him- 
self with low society or coxcombs. This king was a man formed in 
nature's best mould; yet he never evinced vanity of his own person, or 
contempt of beauty in others. As we said before, there were certain 
vices inherent in him — viz. haughtiness and immeasurable ambition, 
conjoined, as some have thought, with covetousness; and yet there 
was an urbanity and liberality which are seldom united to these quali- 
ties ; and, as regards ambition, we should not complain of it, when it 
was wise enough to devote itself to the happiness of mankind. And 
such was the ambition of Henry ; indeed his intellectual greatness, if 
not his moral qualities, soaring above the vulgar lust for mere do- 
minion, exhibited many proofs that he prized true glory. When the 
war trumpet had ceased, and the glittering sword was entombed in its 
peaceful scabbard, he took much pleasure in hunting and hawking ; 
but when the interest of his people or the presumption of his enemies 
called, he cast such diversions away, as unbefitting the vast and respon- 
sible duties of his station, and as too soft a relaxation for the man 
who had determined to sustain the " foremost place of all this world." 
Yes.; though he deemed hunting the fierce boar, which then roamed 
in our forests, as an exhilarating and manly amusement for the young 
nobles of his court, yet his spirit was too perfect in its capacities, and 
his ambition too vigilant, to permit him to postpone the still more 
dangerous scenes of those sudden and bloody wars which were so con- 
stantly occurring in England and Wales, and his more distant territories 
of Normandy. 

Peter of Blois, a Chaplain of Henry II., in his letter to a friend, 
says of his Royal Master : — 

" In praising David the King, it is said that he was ruddy ; but you 
must understand that my lord the King is sub-rufus, or pale red : his 
harness (armour) hath somewhat changed his colour. Of middle 
stature he is, so that among little men seemeth he not much, nor 
among long men seemeth he over little. His head is round, as a 
token of great wit, and of special high counsel the treasury." Our 
readers would scarcely expect phrenological observations in an epistle 
of the twelfth century, but we faithfully write what we find therein, 
" His head is of such-quality, that to the neck and to all the body it 
accordeth by even proportion ; his eyes fine, and clear as to a colour 
while he is of pleased will, but through disturbance of heart like 



218 



APPEXDIX. 



sparkling fire or lightning with hastiness ; his head of curly hair, when 
clipped square in the forehead, sheweth well his visage, the nostrils 
even and comely according to all the other features ; high vaulted feet, 
legs able to riding, broad bust and long champion arms, — which telleth 
him to be strong, light, and hardy. In a toe of his foot the nail 
groweth into the flesh, and in harm to the foot over waxeth ; his hands, 
through their greatness, sheweth negligence, for he utterly leaveth the 
keeping of them ; never, but when he beareth hawks, weareth he 
gloves ; each day at mass and counsel, and other open needs of the 
realm, throughout the whole morning he standeth afoot, and yet when 
he eateth he never sitteth down. In one day he will, if need be, ride two 
or three journeys, and thus hath he oft circumvented the plots of his 
enemies ; a huge lover of woods is he, so that when he ceaseth of war 
he haunteth places of hawking and hunting ; he useth boots without 
folding caps, and homely and short clothes weareth he ; his flesh would 
have charged him with fatness, but with travel and fasting he 
keeps it under ; and in riding and going he travaileth mightily. Not, 
as other kings, lieth he in his palace, but travelling about by his pro- 
vinces espieth he the doings of all men. Nor man more wise in 
counsel, nor more dreadful in prosperity, nor steadfaster in adversity. 
He doometh those that he judges when they be wrong, and punisheth 
them by stronger judgment than other men. When once he loveth, 
scarcely will he ever hate ; when once he hateth, scarcely ever re- 
ceiveth he into grace. Oft holdeth he in hand swords, bows, and 
hunting gear, except he be at counsel or at book. When he may rest 
from worldly business, he privily occupieth himself about learning and 
reading, and among his clerks asketh he questions for though your 
king be well y-lettered, our king by far is more y-lettered. My lord the 
King of Sicily a whole year was my disciple : though by you he hath 
the beginning of teaching, yet by me he had the benefice of more full 
science ; and, as soon as I went out of Sicily, your king cast aw r ay his 
books and gave himself up to Palatine idleness ; but, forsooth, our 
lord, the King of England, is each day a school for right well lettered 
men, hence his conversation that he hath with them in busy discussing 
of questions. None is more honest than our King in speaking, ne in 
alms largess. Therefore, as holy writ saith, we may say of him — ' His 
name is a precious ointment, and the alms of him all the Church 
shall take.'" 



No. VIII. 

1. If any dispute shall arise concerning the advowson and presen- 
tation of Churches, between laymen, or between ecclesiastics and 



APPEXDIX. 



219 



laymen, or between ecclesiastics, let it be tried and determined in the 
Court of our lord the King. 

2. Ecclesiastics arraigned and accused of any matter, being sum- 
moned by the King's Justiciary, shall come into his Court, to answer 
there, concerning that which it shall appear to the King's Court is 
cognizable there ; and shall answer in the Ecclesiastical Court con- 
cerning that which it shall appear is cognizable there ; so that the 
King's Justiciary shall send to the Court of Holy Church, to see in 
what manner the cause shall be tried there ; and if an ecclesiastic 
shall be convicted, or confess his crime, the Church ought not any 
longer to give him protection. 

3. It is unlawful for archbishops, bishops, and any dignified clergy- 
men of the realm, to go out of the realm without the King's license ; 
and if they shall go, they shall, if it so please the King, give security 
that they will not, either in going, staying, or returning, procure any 
evil or danger to the King or to the kingdom. 

4. Persons excommunicated ought not to give any security by way 
of deposit, nor take any oath, but only find security and pledge to 
stand to the judgment of the Church, in order to absolution. 

5. No tenant in chief of the King, nor any of the officers of his 
household, or of his demesne, shall be excommunicate, nor shall the 
lands of any of them be put under an interdict, unless application 
shall first have been made to our lord the King, if he be in the king- 
dom, or, if he be out of the kingdom, to his justiciary, that he may do 
right concerning such person ; and in such manner, as that what 
shall belong to the King's Court shall be there determined, and what 
shall belong to the Ecclesiastical Court shall be sent thither, that it 
may there be determined. 

6. Concerning appeals, if any shall arise, they ought to proceed 
from the archdeacon to the bishop, and from the bishop to the arch- 
bishop : and, if the archbishop shall fail in doing justice, the cause 
shall at last be brought to our lord the King, that, by his precept, 
the dispute may be determined in the archbishop's court ; so that it 
ought not to proceed any further without the consent of our lord the 
King. 

7. If there shall arise any dispute between an ecclesiastic and a 
layman, or between a layman and an ecclesiastic, about any tenement, 
which the ecclesiastic pretends to be held in frank almoigne, and the 
layman pretends to be a lay fee, it shall be determined before the 
King's chief justice, by the trial of twelve lawful men, whether the 
tenement belongs to frank almoigne, or is a lay fee ; and if it be 
found to be frank almoigne, then it shall be pleaded in the Ecclesias- 



220 



APPENDIX. 



tical Court ; but if a lay fee, then in the King's Court ; unless both 
parties shall claim to hold of the same bishop or baron : but if both 
shall claim to hold the said fee under the same bishop or baron, the 
plea shall be in his court, provided that, by reason of such trial, the 
party who was first seized shall not lose his seizin, till it shall have 
been finally determined by the plea. 

8. Whosoever is of any city, or castle, or borough, or demesne, or 
manor, of our lord the King, if he shall be cited by the archdeacon or 
bishop for any offence, and shall refuse to answer to such citation, it 
is allowable to put him under an interdict ; but he ought not to be 
excommunicated before the King's chief officer of the town be applied 
to, that he may, by due course of law, compel him to answer accord- 
ingly ; and if the King's officer shall fail therein, such officer shall be 
at the mercy of our lord the King, and then the bishop may compel 
the person accused by ecclesiastical justice. 

9. Pleas of debt, whether they be due by faith solemnly pledged, or 
without faith so pledged, belong to the King's judicature. 

10. When an archbishopric, or bishopric, or abbey, or priory, of 
royal foundation, shall be vacant, it ought to be in the hands of our 
lord the King, and he shall receive all the rents and issues thereof, as 
of his demesne ; and when that church is to be supplied, our lord the 
King ought to send for the principal clergy of that church, and the 
election ought to be made in the King's chapel, with the assent of our 
lord the King, and the advice of such of the prelates of the kingdom 
as he shall call for that purpose; and the person elect shall there do 
homage and fealty to our lord the King, as his liege lord of life, limb, 
and wordly honour (saving his order), before he be consecrated. 



No. IX. 

Absolution. — This subject has created much vituperation and con- 
tention amongst the churches of the world. The broad distinction 
seems to lie between the Romish Church and the High Protestant 
Church of England. For the simple observations here intended, it 
will not be desirable to notice the dissensions in the present English 
Protestant Church. 

From the best examination we have been able to make, we understand 
the Romish Church to allege, that Absolution, or the power of absolv- 
ing sins, is a grace resident in every Catholic priest ; and that such 
absolution may be granted or sold at any moment, and this without 



APPENDIX. 



221 



regard to the will and word of God, or the state of the heart of the ap- 
plicant. We are aware that such a general power as this is denied by 
many ; but the history of this Church, and its constant practice, prove 
that the priests are, and have ever been, in the habit of selling abso- 
lution, either to enrich themselves, or the general coffers of their 
Church. 

The Church of England holds a doctrine bearing the same name, 
but widely different in its nature. The great authority for absolu- 
tion under the English Church is to be found in Samuel xii. 
13 : "And David said unto Nathan, I have sinned against the 
Lord. And Nathan said unto David, The Lord also hath put away 
thy sin;" thus declaring to the royal penitent that God was willing to 
put away the sin, when truly repented of. 

This is the simple doctrine of the Protestant Church, that penitence 
and confession are necessary to obtain absolution, or forgiveness of 
sin ; such confession and penitence being towards God and not to man. 
The sins of the truly repentant are washed away by the blood of 
Christ, as though they had never been; and this is the only true abso- 
lution, being wiped out of the book of remembrance by God's own 
hand. 



No. X. (See No, V.) 



From the Times of Friday, November loth, 1844. 

" A popular French writer has recently asserted, in a work of fiction, 
in which he virulently, though not always unjustly, assails the policy 
of the. Romish clergy, that the pretensions of the more unscrupulous 
agents of that Church openly defy all the most sacred relations of 
mankind, that they dare to set at nought even the ties of filial duty, 
and that no artifices are too base for them to resort to in furtherance 
of their ends. But we have met with nothing in the pages of fiction 
which illustrates these serious and almost incredible charges more 
forcibly than an occurrence which has actually taken place in the course 
of the present year in one of the capitals of the south of Europe. We 
feel impelled to give to these painful events, and most sinister machi- 
nations, a greater publicity than they have hitherto received ; not only 
because it is well that the actors in such transactions should learn 
that they cannot escape the animadversion of Europe, but because 



222 



APPENDIX. 



the case we are about to relate affords a warning not to be overlooked 
by our Protestant fellow-countrymen whose families may chance to fall 
within the reach of the same dangerous influences. 

" The post of Dutch Minister at the Court of Turin had been 
reputably filled for some years by a Protestant gentleman of the 
name of Heidi vier, who resided with his family in that city, until, 
in consequence of some new diplomatic arrangements on the part of 
the Dutch Government, he received, in the month of May last, his 
letters of recall. Some domestic anxiety had been occasioned to this 
family by one of the daughters, a young lady of ardent and inde- 
pendent temperament, who was supposed to have formed an attach- 
ment for a young lawyer of the town, whose character and position 
did not make him a suitable match for her. Their departure was 
therefore hastened ; but after M. Heldivier had presented his letters to 
the King of Sardinia, he was accidentally detained by the illness of 
another of his children for a few days in an hotel at Turin. On the 
8th of June a display of fireworks took place, in honour of the birth 
of an heir to the Duke of Savoy. The ex-minister and his wife were 
induced to attend this fete, and very reluctantly to leave their daugh- 
ter, who excused herself on some pretext, at home. They were 
absent but a short time ; yet, in the interval, the vague apprehensions 
they seem to have entertained were fatally verified. Their daughter 
had disappeared — and for ever. At that hour of the night she had 
quitted the hotel, alone, and without even a change of dress. The 
police were immediately sent in search of the fugitive. The young 
advocate, who was at first suspected to have a hand in the elopement, 
was examined, but he proved himself to be totally ignorant of the 
occurrence ; not a vestige of her was to be found within the jurisdic- 
tion of the authorities of the city ; but this absence of all evidence 
raised a strong presumption that she would only be found in the 
precincts of some convent, more inaccessible than a prison or a 
tomb. 

" Application was made to the Archbishop of Turin, as the supreme 
ecclesiastical power of the kingdom, for leave to pursue these inquiries, 
or for information, if he possessed it, on the subject; for meanwhile the 
anxiety and anguish of this unfortunate family had been raised to a 
pitch which we shall not attempt to describe ; and even the public, 
startled by the actual disappearance of a young lady, still a minor, the 
daughter of a gentleman who came amongst them as the representa- 
tive of a foreign sovereign, took the liveliest part in their extreme 
distress. 

" The Archbishop thought fit to reply to this application, that he 



APPENDIX. 



223 



had reason to believe that Mademoiselle Heldivier had indeed sought 
refuge in a convent, but that he was unable to state where she was 
at present. A few days more, however, brought the whole transaction 
to light. When the Archbishop of Turin asserted that he was unable 
to state where this young lady was, he might have stated, and he did 
afterwards acknowledge, that no person living had had so great a hand 
in the affair as himself. For two years he had been carrying on 
a system of secret communication with Mademoiselle Heldivier. 
Thwarted by her parents in her attachment for the young advocate, 
she had sought to avenge herself on them by transferring her con- 
fidence from her father to this priest — from her natural protectors, to 
the jealous arms of the Church of Rome. The Archbishop, unwilling 
to commit himself by a written order, had furnished his convert with 
one half of a sheet of paper cut in a particular manner; the other 
half was given to the abbess of the convent of Santa Croce, in Turin, 
with orders to receive the bearer of the corresponding fragment at any 
hour of the day or night. Provided with these credentials, the fugi- 
tive found shelter in the convent walls ; but, by the advice of the Arch- 
bishop, her flight was deferred until her father, by the delivery of 
his letters of recall, had, as these clerical conspirators contend, sur- 
rendered those diplomatic rights and privileges which would have 
been fatal to their scheme. 

" The fact being thus ascertained, a strong effort was made to bring 
the authors of this plot to account for their action, and to yield up the 
young person whom they had gotten into their possession. Setting 
aside the odious secret acts by which this alleged conversion had 
been effected, and the irreparable injury done to an honourable family, 
the case was one which demanded the strongest remonstrances, as an 
unparalleled invasion of the law of nations, and of the rights of 
diplomatic persons. A Dutch subject — a minor — the child of a Dutch 
minister — is encouraged to quit her father's abode, received into a 
convent, and there detained, not only by moral but by actual force, 
since every attempt even to search these convents was successfully re- 
sisted by the clergy. The King was personally appealed to by the 
distracted father. His Majesty granted him an audience ; but in 
answer to the prayers and the demands of M. -Heldivier, that his 
daughter might be restored to him, the only reply which the absolute 
monarch dared to make was, that whatever might be his own opinion 
on the subject, if he presumed to interfere with the ecclesiastical juris- 
diction of the convents, he should be excommunicated! Such an 
answer on such an occasion might have been expected from a Philip 
IT. of Spain ; and such powers as are thus recognized and established 
fall little short of those of the Inquisition. The principle contended 



224 APPENDIX. 

for on behalf of the Church of Rome is this — That any child, having 
completed the age of twelve years, may, for any cause, motive, or 
pretext, throw off the parental authority, and fling itself under the 
protection of the Church. If the child be a Protestant, so much the 
better, since, while it abjures its filial duties, it abandons its religious 
faith ; but whether Catholic or Protestant, the protection of the 
Church, thus sought and thus given, is absolute and inviolable. 

" There are few countries now, in Europe or the world, where such 
a doctrine as this would not be demolished by the ordinary notions of 
civil rights and ofjustice. But the dominions of the King of Sardinia are 
one of those countries. In vain did Mr. Abercromby, our own intelligent 
minister at the Court of Turin — and Baron Mortier, the representative 
of France, represent that M. Heldivier, as a diplomatic person, had an 
incontestable right to quit the country in peace, taking with him all 
his family. The inexorable grasp of the Infallible Church prevailed. 
The King of Holland appears to have taken this outrage upon the 
family of his Minister with a most unbecoming indifference and 
pusillanimity ; and Mademoiselle Heldivier remains in the convent of 
Santa Croce, where she has formally abjured the Protestant heresies, 
and will probably take the veil on the completion of her noviciate. 

" We have no wish to draw any excessive or unjust inferences from 
this strange occurrence, which seems to belong not only to another 
country, but to another age ; but it exhibits an awful picture of what 
the uncontrolled power of the Romish Clergy may still dare to effect, 
and a humiliating example of a Government, which has allowed the 
ties of private right and public law to be broken asunder, because it is 
itself a victim to the worst form of bigotry, and the most servile sub- 
jection to spiritual oppression." 



No. XI. 

The Creed of Pope Pius IV. was drawn up by the order of the 
Council of Trent, as a concise formulary of the doctrines of the 
Church of Rome. It consists of twenty-four articles. The twelve 
first are the articles of the Nicene Creed: the twelve last are the 
additional doctrines which the Church of Rome has added to the 
original Catholic faith. They are thus translated by C. Butler, Esq., 
in the Appendix to Vol. III. of his " Historical Memoirs of the Eng- 
lish, Irish, and Scottish Catholics since the Reformation." 



APPENDIX. 



225 



" I most firmly admit and embrace Apostolical and Ecclesiastical 
Traditions, and all other constitutions and observances of the same 
Church. 

" I also admit the Sacred Scriptures, according to the sense which 
the Holy Mother Church has held, and does hold, to whom it belongs 
to judge of the true sense and interpretation of the Holy Scriptures ; 
nor will I ever take and interpret them otherwise than according to 
the unanimous sense of the Fathers. 

" I profess also that there are truly and properly Seven Sacraments 
of the new law, instituted by Jesus Christ our Lord, and for the sal- 
vation of mankind, though all are not necessary for every one — viz. 
Baptism, Confirmation, Eucharist, Penance, Extreme Unction, Orders, 
and Matrimony ; and that they confer grace ; and of these, Baptism, 
Confirmation, and Orders, cannot be reiterated without sacrilege. 

" I also receive and admit the Ceremonies of the Catholic Church, 
received and approved in the solemn administration of all the above 
said sacraments. 

" I receive and embrace ail and every one of the things which have 
been defined and declared in the holy Council of Trent, concerning 
original sin and justification. 

" I profess, likewise, that in the Mass is offered to God a true, 
proper, and propitiatory sacrifice for the living and the dead ; and 
that in the most holy Sacrament of the Eucharist, there is truly, really, 
and substantially, the body and blood, together with the soul and 
divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ ; and that there is made a conver- 
sion of the whole substance of the bread into the body, and of the 
whole substance of the wine into the blood, which conversion the 
Catholic Church calls Transubstantiation. 

" I confess also that under either kind alone, whole and entire, 
Christ and a true Sacrament is received. 

" I constantly hold, that there is a Purgatory, and that the souls 
detained therein are helped by the suffrages of the faithful. 

" Likewise, that the Saints reigning together with Christ are to be 
honoured and invocated, that they offer prayers to God for us ; and that 
their relics are to be venerated. 

" I most firmly assert, that the images of Christ, and of the Mother 
of God, ever Virgin, and also of the other Saints, are to be had and 
retained ; and that due honour and veneration are to be given unto 
them. 

" I also affirm that the power of indulgences was left by Christ in 
the Church ; and that the use of them is most wholesome to Christian 
people. 

" I acknowledge the Holy Catholic and Apostolic Roman Church, 

o_ 



226 



APPENDIX. 



the mother and mistress of all churches ; and I promise and swear 
true obedience to the Roman Bishop, the successor of St. Peter, Prince 
of the Apostles, and Vicar of Jesus Christ. 

" I also profess, and undoubtedly receive all other things delivered, 
defined, and declared by the Sacred Canons and General Councils, 
and particularly by the holy Council of Trent ; and, likewise, 1 also 
condemn, reject, and anathematize all things contrary thereto, and all 
heresies whatever, condemned and anathematized by the Church. 

" This true Catholic faith, out of which none can be saved, which I 
now freely profess, and truly hold, I promise, vow, and swear, most 
constantly to hold and profess the same, whole and entire, with God's 
assistance, to the end of my life. Amen." 



No. XII. 

St. James says, in his General Epistle to the Church of Christ, 
" Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for an- 
other." But there is no authority which directs the sinner to 
confess his sins to man, and by man shall they be forgiven. Jesus 
soid to the leper, " Go thy way, and show thyself unto the priest" 
(Luke xvii. 14.), but Christ had first cleansed him of his leprosy. Holy 
Ambrose says, the true Priest is Jesus Christ, after the order of 
Melchisedech. This is the Sovereign Bishop, who doth with the 
sacrifice of his body and blood wash away the sins of all those who 
with true confession of the same do flee to him. It is against true 
Christian liberty, that any man should be bound to number and 
describe his sins before his fellow-man. How different is this view to 
the words of the Council of Trent, which says, " Whoever shall deny 
that Sacramental Confession was instituted by Divine command, or 
that it is necessary to salvation— or shall affirm that the practice of 
secretly confessing to the priest alone, as it has ever been observed, 
is foreign to the institution and command of Christ — let him be 
accursed," &c. 



No. XIII. 

No heretics ever disturbed the Church so extensively, — not 
even Pelagius, who agitated his heresy on original sin and free 
will ; nor Arian, in his contention on the consubstantiation or sepa- 
rate and unequal constituents of the Trinity. 



APPENDIX. 



■2-27 



The Pope Alexander wilfully confounded them with the Mam- 
chaeans, and thus, probably, misled the King of England, and induced 
him to agree to join in a crusade against them. Historians differ as 
to the doctrines of these sects, and some confound them with the 
Cathari, whose tenets were very unscriptural. This was done by the 
Vatican, to induce the cruel crusade against them. Lord Lyttleton 
says, " But even the best authorities concerning these schisms must 
be read with doubt." 



No. XIV. 

Transubstantiation. — The Romanist views are stated in the text; 
but the true scriptural doctrine upon the subject of the Sacrament of 
the Lord's Supper is this — that the change which takes place in the 
elements of bread and wine is merely a change of character and of use, 
and not a change of substance. The bread and wine become, when 
consecrated, the sacraments, or the outw T ard and visible signs of the 
body and blood of Christ ; and as such they — that is, the material 
symbols — are used by the Holy Spirit as the channels or means of 
conveying to the faithful communicants the inw r ard and spiritual grace, 
which consists in a personal interest in the sufferings that Christ en- 
dured when his body was broken and his blood shed upon the cross ; 
so that those who communicate in faith do verily and indeed feed 
upon the real body and blood of Christ in their souls, at the very time 
when they receive and feed upon the consecrated symbols of his body 
and blood with their mouths ; and their souls are as truly strengthened 
and refreshed by feeding on the real body and blood of Christ by faith, 
as their bodies are strengthened and refreshed by bread and wine. 
Thus the consecrated elements are the external means, and faith the 
internal means of receiving the body and blood of Christ in the sacra- 
ment. 

Peter of Blois is said to have been the first English priest who used 
the word Transubstantiation. He was preceptor to William of Sicily 
in 1157. 

No. XV. 

Infallibility. — The opinion that the Pope is infallible, was main- 
tained principally by the Jesuits. But this is easily refuted. Several 
of the Popes have actually erred. Adrian VI. declared that Popes 
were fallible. In this he was either right or wrong : in either case, 
the question of the fallibility of Popes is decided. Stephen VI. an- 
nulled the decrees of Formosius I. ; John X. annulled those of 
Stephen, and restored those of Formosius. Again : Popes have con- 



228 



APPENDIX. 



tradicted themselves, as in the case of Martin V., who confirmed the 
decree of the Council of Constance, which placed a general council 
above the Pope ; and yet he afterwards published a bull forbidding all 
appeals from the Pope to a general council. Again : Popes have em- 
braced heresy, as in the case of Liberius, who, according to Atha- 
nasius, adopted Arianism. Honorius defended the heresy of the 
Monothelites, and was condemned by three general councils, which 
were all confirmed by the Pope. John XXIII. was accused by the 
Council of Constance of heresy and schism ; and Pope Gelasius con- 
demned communion in one kind as sacrilegious, though this has been 
subsequently established by the Council of Trent. These, not to 
adduce innumerable other instances, ought to determine the question 
of the Infallibility of the Pope. 

Some have said that a council, with a Pope at its head, is infal- 
lible. But where was this criterion ascertained? Upon what 
independently infallible authority does it rest ? Or is it merely 
an opinion, resting upon the supposition or imagination of fallible 
men ? Is it not as rational to argue that two cyphers make one unit, 
as to argue that two fallibles make one infallible ? unless we have been 
for centuries in error, in not extending the principle that two negatives 
make an affirmative, to subjects of a metaphysical kind ! And again, 
on this principle, instead of a perpetual infallible judge of controversies, 
infallibility has only existed occasionally, and after long intervals! 
And since the Council of Trent, there has been no infallible tribunal 
in existence ! If this opinion were true, how desirable that the 
present Pope should summon another general council, in order to give 
the world infallible information as to the character of the many reli- 
gious opinions which prevail, and threaten the very existence of the 
Church of Rome ! 

The opinion that infallibility resides in the Church Universal, so 
that when the decrees of Popes and councils are received and sub- 
mitted to, they then become infallibly true, is equally absurd ; for this 
opinion will either transfer the infallibility from the governors to the 
governed, or set it aside altogether ; as the reception of the decrees of 
Popes and councils by the Universal Church could be sufficiently 
accounted for by the prevalent opinions held as to the authority and 
supremacy of Popes and councils, without introducing the question of 
ijijallibility at all. The mere fact that decrees are submitted to, can- 
not prove them to be infallibly true, but merely that the power of 
those who have published them is generally recognised. 

Where, then, is infallibility to be found ? Let this question be 
decided ; and let the advocate of the Church of Rome remember that 
this claim cannot be substantiated merely by moral reasoning, as the 



APPENDIX. 



229 



foundation should not be weaker than the superstructure. Nothing 
but infallible evidence can support a claim to infallibility. In the mean 
time, we cannot but regard the idea of an infallible church as being a 
device of Satan, to draw away the attention of men from the only 
infallible guide which Christ has promised to his people — the Holy 
Spirit speaking in his word, and thereby teaching the believer all 
things, and leading him into all truth. 



No. XVI. (See No. XL) 



No. XVII. 

The idolatry of the Egyptians and Canaanites consisted not only of 
worshipping false gods — such as the sun, moon, stars, winds, &c , 
which they declared were anointed and actuated by some intelligences 
residing in them, and exerting their beneficial or noxious powers on 
man — but also in forming certain symbolical and figurative representa- 
tions of the True God. under the forms of beasts, birds, and fishes, 
expressive of their peculiar essences or powers ; until at length the 
symbols were forgotten, or perverted by the vulgar into the most 
grovelling and senseless materials on the one hand, or bestial idolatry 
on the other. There became a confused mob of gods and goddesses, 
consisting of corrupted symbols and the heavenly bodies personified, 
mixed with eminent persons who were deified on account of some 
exploits or national services. Generally, these classes of gods are 
mixed up in the most promiscuous medley ; and often various charac- 
teristics are mixed up in the same god, producing the greatest 
absurdity and confusion. Some nations confined themselves to one 
particular class ; such as the Persians, who adopted the primitive 
idolatry, adoring only the heavenly bodies, particularly the sun. 
Herodotus, and most profane writers, prove that the Egyptians were 
the most superstitious and wild in their idolatry, of all the ancient 
nations. Theirs were the dark idolatries, for they bowed down to the 
most ugly forms of wood and stone. Eusebius, who gave great atten- 
tion to these cosmogonies and theogonies, is of opinion that they 
entirely denied that a spirit was the creator of all things ; but the 
eminent Cudworth thinks otherwise, and refers to the fact of the god 
Cneph being set up by the, Egyptians ; and though this god was wor- 
shipped under the most ugly and monstrous form, yet it was called 
the Good God. Its figure was that of a man holding a girdle, and a 



230 



APPENDIX. 



sceptre and crow, and with magnificent plumes : from his mouth 
proceeded an egg, whence issued another god, whom they called 
Phtha. An explanation may give some idea of the monstrous 
worship : — the overshadowing plumes were to denote his hidden 
and invisible nature, his power of communicating life, his uni- 
versal sovereignty, and the spirituality of his operations ; the egg 
proceeding from his mouth signified the world, which he created. The 
same god was worshipped under the form of a serpent with the head 
of a hawk, who by opening his eyes fills the world with light — by 
shutting them, covers it with deep darkness. The worship of the god 
Cneph was by no means general in Egypt — it was chiefly confined to 
Thebais. Plutarch praises the inhabitants of Thebais, that they were 
exempt from the common superstitions ; since they acknowledged no 
mortal god, admitting for the first principle only the god Cneph, who 
had no beginning, and was not subject to death. 

There can be little doubt that the sun, moon, and heavenly bodies 
were the first objects of idolatry; next came the elements, which were 
worshipped in their palpable or visible manifestations, without symbol, 
image or temple ; next followed a practice of worshipping living 
creatures. The Egyptian worshipped the sun, and the Persian wor- 
shipped the hawk, as a symbol of the sun ; so this system of sym- 
bolization seemed to deteriorate in various ancient nations — 
extended itself rapidly, and seemed to involve itself deeply in the 
habits of these dark nations ; so much so, that many cities were called 
after the names of the animals who were worshipped in the respective 
towns ; such as Bubastis, Mendes, Crocodilopolis, Leontopolis — seve- 
rally named after cats, goats, crocodiles, and lions. The next stage 
was that of deifying men and women. 

This painful list might be added to very considerably. Indeed, to 
give the various names and attributes of the various deities which have 
been successively worshipped by the Pagan world, would fill volumes. 
Enough has been said to justify the observations in this book. For 
further particulars, the reader is referred to " Egyptian Antiquities," 
vol. i. pp. 370 — 374, in " Library of Entertaining Knowledge ;" also 
to the excellent work by Cudworth. We cannot refrain from referring 
to the worship of garlic and onions by the Egyptians. J uvenal says — 
" How Egypt, mad with superstition grown, 

Makes gods of monsters, but too well is known ; 

'Tis mortal sin an onion to devour; 

Each clove of garlic is a sacred power. 

Religious nations, sure, and blest abodes, 

Where every garden is o'ergrown with gods !" 

Dbyden. 



APPENDIX. 



231 



No. XVIII. (See No. XV.) 
No. XIX. 

Ecclesiastical Supremacy. — For the first six centuries, the Bishops 
of Rome had no jurisdiction beyond the limits of their own immediate 
diocese; and this is evident from the fact that in the first General 
Council held at Nice in 325, summoned by the Emperor, the Bishops 
of Alexandria and Antioch were declared to have, according to custom, 
the same authority over the churches subordinate to them, that the 
bishops of Rome had over those that lay about that city ; and that, in 
the sixth century, when John, the Bishop of Constantinople, assumed 
to himself the title of Universal Bishop, Pelagius II. and Gregory I., 
both Bishops of Rome, protested against him. 

Prohibition of Scriptures. — The first prohibition of the use of the 
Scriptures was published by the Synod of Toulouse, held in 1229, and 
caused by the preaching of the Waldenses. It is as follows : — 

" We prohibit the permitting of the laity to have the books of the 
Old or New Testament, unless any one should wish, from a feeling of 
devotion, to have a Psalter or Breviary for divine service, or the Hours 
of the Blessed Virgin. But we strictly forbid them to have the above- 
mentioned books in the vulgar tongue." 

The Vatican displays the same disposition even in this day. 

Extract from the Encyclical Letter of the Pope, dated 3d May, 
1824 :— 

" It is no secret to you, Venerable Brethren, that a certain Society, 
vulgarly called the Bible Society, is audaciously spreading itself 
throughout the world. After despising the traditions of the Holy 
Fathers, and in opposition to the well-known decree of the Council of 
Trent, this Society has collected all its forces, and directs every 
means to one object — to the translation, or rather to the perversion of 
the Bible into the vernacular languages of all nations ! From this 
fact, there is strong ground of fear lest, as in some instances already 
known, so likewise in the rest, through a perverse interpretation there 
be framed, out of the Gospel of Christ, a Gospel of man, or what is 
worse, a Gospel of tele Devil." 

The Letter then gives the following advice : — 

" We also, Venerable Brethren, conformably to our apostolical duty, 
exhort you diligently to occupy yourselves, by all means, to turn away 
your flock from these deadly pastures." 



232 



APPENDIX. 



Extracts from the " Circular Address of the Pope to the Irish 
Prelates," dated 18th September, 1819, on Bible Schools, &c. :— 

" The prediction of our Lord Jesus Christ in the parable of the 
sower, that sowed good seed in his field, but while people slept his 
enemy came and sowed tares upon the wheat, is, to the very great 
injury of the Catholic faith, seen verified in these our own days, par- 
ticularly in Ireland; for information has reached the ears of the Sacred 
College, that ' Bible Schools,' supported by the funds of the Acatho- 
lics, have been established in almost every part of Ireland, in which, 
under the pretence of charity, the inexperienced of both sexes, but 
particularly peasants and paupers, are allured by the blandishments 
and even gifts of the masters, and infected with the fatal poison of 
false doctrines." 

" It is further stated that the directors of these schools are, gene- 
rally speaking, Methodists, who introduce Bibles translated into 
English by the Bible Society, and propped up by errors, with the sole 
views of seducing the youth, and entirely eradicating from their minds 
the truths of the orthodox faith." The address then proceeds to 
recommend the establishment of schools by Roman Catholics, wherein 
" salutary instructions may be imparted to the paupers and illiterate 
country persons." 

The Unanimity of Romanism with Paganism is obvious in many 
respects. They have tutelary saints, who are said to preside over dif- 
ferent countries, and to extend their protection to persons in different 
circumstances and situations. St. Christopher and St. Clement are 
said to preside over the sea ; St. Anthony, over inflammations ; St. 
Petronillo is applied to for the cure of the ague ; St. Sigismund, for 
fevers ; St. Margarita, for assistance in child-bearing ; St. Roach, for 
the plague and infectious disorders ; St. Cornelius is said to cure the 
falling-sickness ; St. Apollonia, the tooth-ache ; St. Nicholas and St. 
Gregory are the tutelary saints of scholars ; and St. Luke, of painters. 

Many of the reputed saints in the Romish Calendar never existed ! 
Others, again, were canonized who had been guilty of notorious 
crimes ; — a remarkable example of which we have in the case of 
Thomas A'Becket of Canterbury, whose merit was, that he asserted 
the right of all ecclesiastics to exemption from the authority of the 
secular power. For this he was enrolled amongst the saints by the 
Pope, two or three years after his death. His shrine was, as stated, 
the richest in all England. 

Deification of Mortals. — Amongst the alleged virtues for which 
many of the Romish saints have been canonized, we subjoin what is 



APPENDIX. 



233 



called a summary of the virtues of Alphonso Maria of Liguria, as 
related by a Roman Cardinal : — 

" I know for certainty that this servant of God constantly scourged 
himself, unbloodily and bloodily; and besides the unbloody scourgings 
enjoined by his rule, he was wont to punish himself every day in the 
morning, before the usual hours of rising ; and in the evening, after 
the signal for repose. On Saturdays he scourged himself till the 

blood flowed I know that this servant of God macerated 

his bod} 7 also with hair-cloth with sharp points in it, and with chains 
as well on the arms as on the legs, which he carried with him till 
dinner-time ; and these for the most part were so armed with sharp 
points, that they filled with horror all who ever saw them. I have 
heard say also, that he had a dress filled with a coat-of-mail with iron 
points ; that he had bandages of camel's hair ; and other instruments 
of penance were casually seen by me, and by others of my companions, 
notwithstanding his zealous and circumspect secrecy. Of a similar 
kind was his extreme mortification in sleeping upon two planks covered 
with a sack, with a little straw in it, so that it appeared a hard stone. 
I frequently also heard say that he slept during his few hours with a 
large stone hung on, and tied to his feet. I well remember that he 
never shaved himself, when he was with us, with a razor ; but only by 
little and little he did it with pincers; and he caused his assistant-friar 
to make his clerical crown with the same pincers." 

This wretched man, who seems to have been better acquainted with 
the fanaticism of the Hindoos than with the principles of the Chris- 
tian religion, was canonized so recently as the year 1830 ; so that the 
Church of Rome, in the nineteenth century, entertains the same 
opinions as to the absurd qualifications which entitle a man to be re- 
gistered amongst her reputed saints, as she ever did in the days of her 
worst and darkest ascendancy. 

We subjoin some specimens of prayers from the Roman Missal : 

On the festival of St. Nicholas, on the 6th December, the following 
prayer is used — 

" O God, who by innumerable miracles hast honoured blessed 
Nicholas the bishop : grant, we beseech thee, that by his merits and 
intercession we may be delivered from eternal flames." 

On the festival of St. Damasus, on the 11th December, the following 
occurs — 

" Give ear, O Lord, to our prayers ; and by the intercession of 
blessed Damasus, thy confessor and bishop, mercifully grant us pardon 
and peace." 



234 



APPENDIX. 



On the festival of St. Marcellus, on the 18th January, the following 
occurs : — 

" Mercifully hear, O Lord, we beseech thee, the prayers of thy peo- 
ple, that we may be assisted by the merits of blessed Marcellus, thy 
martyr and bishop, the feast of whose sufferings we celebrate with 

joy" 

On the festival of St. Vincent and Anastasius, on the 22nd January, 
the following — 

" Hear, O Lord, our earnest prayers, that we, who are sensible of 
the guilt of our crimes, may be delivered therefrom by the prayers of 
thy blessed martyrs Vincent and Anastasius." 

On the festival of St. Raymond, on the 23rd January, the following — 

" O God, who didst make blessed Raymond an excellent minister 
of the Sacrament of Penance, and didst miraculously conduct him 
through the waves of the sea ; grant by his intercession, that we may 
bring forth fruits worthy of penance, and be enabled to arrive at the 
port of eternal salvation." 

On the festival of St. Francis de Sales, on the 29th January, the 
following — 

" O God, who for the salvation of souls wast pleased that blessed 
Francis, thy confessor and bishop, should become all to all ; mercifully 
grant that, being plentifully enriched with the sweetness of thy charity, 
by following his directions, and by the help of his merits, we may 
obtain life everlasting." 

On the festival of St. Scholastica, on the 10th February, the follow- 
ing— 

" O God, who, to recommend to us innocence of life, wast pleased 
to let the soul of thy blessed virgin Scholastica ascend to heaven in 
the shape of a dove ; grant by her merits and prayers, that we may 
lead innocent lives here, and ascend to eternal joys hereafter." 
On the festival of St. Joseph, on 19th March, the following — 
" Grant, we beseech thee, O Lord, that we may be assisted by the 
merits of the Spouse of thy most Holy Virgin Mother ; and that what 
we cannot obtain through our own weakness, may be granted us by 
his prayers." 

On the festival of St. Richard, on the 3rd April, the following — 
" O God, who hast enlightened thy Church by the merits and 
resplendent miracles of blessed Richard, thy confessor and bishop, 
grant that we, thy servants, may, through his intercession, obtain 
eternal glory." 

On the festival of St. Stanislaus, on the 7th May, the following — 



APPENDIX. 



235 



" O God, for whose honour the glorious bishop Stanislaus fell by 
the swords of wicked men, grant, we beseech thee, that all who im- 
plore his aid may obtain the happy effect of their prayers." 

On the festival of St. William, on the 8th June, the following — 
" O God, who rejoicest us by the merits and intercession of blessed 
William, thy confessor and bishop, mercifully grant that whatever 
we ask of thee in his name may be granted us by the favour of thy 
grace," 

On the festival of the Octave of St. Peter and St. Paul, on the 6th 
July, the following — 

" O God, whose right hand saved blessed Peter from being drowned 
whilst he walked upon the sea, and delivered his fellow-apostle Paul 
from the bottom thereof, when he had been a third time shipwrecked, 
mercifully hear us, and grant, that by the merits of both, we may 
obtain a happy eternity." 

On the festival of the Translation of St. Thomas, on the 7th July, 
the following — 

" O God, who grantest us to celebrate the translation of the relics 
of blessed Thomas, the martyr and bishop, we humbly beseech thee, 
that by his merits and prayers we may pass from vice to virtue, and 
from the prison of this flesh to an eternal kingdom." 

On the festival of St. Elizabeth, on the 8th July, the following — 
" O most merciful God, who, amongst other admirable endow- 
ments, didst privilege blessed Elizabeth with the gift of making wars 
cease ; grant, by her prayers, that after having enjoyed the peace 
which we humbly crave in this mortal life, we may be received into 
everlasting bliss." 

On the festival of St. Lewis, on the 25th August, the following — 
" O God, who removedst blessed Lewis, thy confessor, from an 
earthly kingdom to the glory of an heavenly crown; grant, we beseech 
thee, by his virtues and prayers, that we may be received into the 
company of the King of kings, Jesus Christ, thy only Son." 

On the festival of All Saints, on the 1st November, the folio wing- 
prayer is used — 

"Almighty and eternal God, by whose favour we honour, on one 
solemnity, the merits of all thy saints; grant that we may obtain a plen- 
tiful blessing of thy so-much- desired mercy, since we have so many 
petitioners in our behalf." 

In the Ordinary of the Mass, in the Roman Missal, there is the 
following confession : — 

" I confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary, ever virgin, to 
blessed Michael the Archangel, to blessed John Baptist, to the Holy 
Apostles Peter and Paul, to all the saints, and to you, Father, that I 



236 



APPENDIX. 



have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed, through my 
fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault. Therefore I 
beseech the Blessed Mary, ever virgin, blessed Michael the Arch- 
angel, blessed John Baptist, the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, and all 
the saints, and you, Father, to pray to our Lord God for me." 

There are many instances of Invocation, but we refer to the chief, 
viz. the Virgin Mary. She is styled "the Holy Mother of God," — 
"Mother of our Creator," — "Most Powerful," — "Mirror of Jus- 
tire," — Ark of the Covenant," — "Morning Star," — "Refuge of Sin- 
ners and, in short, the principal titles which the Scriptures appro- 
priate to the Lord\Tesus Christ, are given to her in the Prayer-Books 
of the Church of Rome. 

The following prayers occur in the Roman Missal : — 
On the Vigil of the Assumption, on the 14th August — 
" O God, who wast pleased to make choice of the Virgin Mary, and 
in her to dwell for a time ; grant, we beseech thee, that being secure 
under her protection, we may with comfort solemnize her festival." 

On the Feast of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, on the 15th 
August — 

" Forgive, O Lord, we besech thee, the sins of thy people : that we, 
who are not able to do any thing of ourselves that can be pleasing 
to thee, may be assisted in the way of salvation by the prayers of the 
Mother of thy Son." 

On the Feast of the Name of the Blessed Virgin Mary — 

" Grant, we beseech thee, O Almighty God, that thy faithful, who 
rejoice under the name and protection of the most blessed Virgin 
Mary, may, by her pious intercession, be delivered from all evils here 
on earth, and be brought to the eternal joys of heaven." 

In a book called the Key of Heaven, the following act of adora- 
tion to the Virgin Mary, called the Salve Regina, occurs, p. 32 — 

" Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness, and 
our hope ; to thee do we cry, poor banished sons of Eve ; to thee do 
we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears ; 
turn then, most gracious advocate, thy eyes of mercy towards us, and 
after this our exile, shew unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. 
O most clement, most pious, and most sweet Virgin Mary." 

The following occurs on page 39 — 

" O blessed Virgin, Mother of God, and, by this august quality, 
worthy of all respect from men and angels, I come to offer thee my most 
humble homage, and to implore the aid of thy prayers and protection. 
Thy intercession is most powerful, and thy goodness for mankind on 
earth is equal to thy influence in heaven. Thou knowest, O blessed 



APPENDIX. 



237 



Virgin ! that I look up to thee as my Mother, my Patroness, my Ad- 
vocate. I acknowledge with humble gratitude that thy virtues singled 
thee out for the mother of my Redeemer. I will henceforth honour and 
serve thee assiduously. Accept, O blessed Virgin, my protestations 
of fidelity ; look favourably on the confidence I have in thee ; obtain 
for me, of thy dear Son, a lively faith, a firm hope, a tender, generous, 
and constant love. Obtain for me a cautious puiity, a sincere humility, 
a placid resignation to the will of God, and so faithful an imitation of 
thy virtues through life, that I may exult in thy patronage at the hour 
of my death." 

Purgatory. — This doctrine has filled many a priest's purse ; and 
although ridiculous, we cannot refrain from noticing the Joint Stock 
Company formed in Dublin in 1813, called the Purgatorium Society. 
The Pules being : — 

" I. The Institution to be regulated by the Superior, Rector, and 
six of the Members, who compose the Office for the Dead ; who shall 
attend on every Wednesday night, torecite with devotion and attention 
the Office for the Dead. 

" II. Every Catholic wishing to contribute to the relief of the suf- 
fering souls in Purgatory, to pay one penny per week. 

" III. A Mass to be offered up on the first Monday of every month 
in the parish chapel of St. James's, for the spiritual and temporal wel- 
fare of the Subscribers. 

" V. Each Subscriber to purchase a copy of the Rules ; and the 
money arising from the weekly Subscriptions shall be paid to the 
most necessitated clergyman, who shall he required to give receipts for 
what they are paid. 

" VI. Each Subscriber shall be entitled to an Office at the time of 
his death — another at the expiration of a month — and one at the end 
of twelve months. The benefit of Masses which shall be procured by 
the Subscriptions shall be extended to their relations and friends in 
the following order : — Fathers, Mothers, Brothers, Sisters, Uncles, 
Aunts ; and if married, Husbands, Wives, and Children. 

" VII. Every Superior shall, on his death, be entitled to three 
Masses, every Rector to two, and every Subscriber to one ; provided he 
shall have died a natural death, been a Subscriber for six months, and 
been clear of all dues at the time of his death. 

" IX. Every Superior shall, on every All Souls' Day, advance to the 
Parish Priest whatever sum is necessary for obtaining insertion in the 
Mortality List of the Altar. 

" Subscriptions received in the Chapel on every Wednesday evening, 
&c." 



238 



APPENDIX. 



Indulgences. — This doctrine has produced large sums ; however, the 
Pope soon monopolized the traffic to himself, and issued indulgences 
not only from Church censures and penalties, but also from punish- 
ment in the other world. 

The " Tax of the Sacred Roman Chancery " fixes the following 
sums to be paid for Absolution for the annexed crimes : — 

For Stealing Holy Things out of a consecrated place .£0 10 6 



For a Layman Murdering a Layman 7 6 

For Murdering Father, Mother, Wife, or Sister . . 10 6 
For laying violent hands on a Clergyman, without 

drawing blood 0106 

For a Priest keeping a Concubine 10 6 

For him that Burns his Neighbours House . . . . 12 

For him that Forgeth the Pope's hand 17 

For him that forgeth Letters Apostolical 17 

For a King going to the Holy Sepulchre without License 7 10 



About the same time that this book was printed and sold at Rome, 
Pope Leo X. published a bull, granting pardon of sin and eternal sal- 
vation to such persons as should purchase Indulgences. Tetzel was 
the chief agent for selling them ; and he, and others who were joined 
with him, extolled the benefits of these indulgences in the most re- 
volting manner : — 

" If," said they, " any one purchases Letters of Indulgences, his soul 
may rest secure with respect to its salvation. The souls in purga- 
tory, for whose redemption indulgences are purchased, as soon as the 
money tinkles in the chest, escape from torment, and ascend to 
heaven. The efficacy of Indulgences is so great, that the most heinous 
sins may be remitted and expiated by them, and the person freed both 
from punishment and guilt. Lo ! the heavens are opened ; if you 
enter not now, when will you enter ? For twelvepence you may re- 
deem the soul of your father out of Purgatory : and are you so ungrate- 
ful that you will not rescue your parent from torment ? If you had 
but one coat, you ought to strip yourself instantly, and sell it in order 
to purchase such benefits." 

The following is the form used by Tetzel in granting absolution : — 

" May our Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on thee, and absolve thee 
by the merits of his most holy passion. And I, by his authority, that 
of his blessed apostles Peter and Paul, and of the most holy Pope, 
granted and committed to me in these parts, do absolve thee, first, 
from all ecclesiastical censures, in whatever manner they may have 
been incurred ; and then from all thy sins, transgressions, and excesses, 



APPENDIX. 



239 



how enormous soever they may be, even from such as are reserved 
for the cognizance of the Holy See ; and as far as the keys of the 
Holy Church extend, I remit to you all punishment which you de- 
serve in Purgatory on their account; and I restore you to the holy 
sacraments of the Church, to the unity of the faithful, and to that in- 
nocence and purity which you possessed at baptism ; so that when you 
die, the gates of punishment may be shut, and the gates of paradise of 
delight shall be opened ; and if you shall not die at this present, this 
grace shall remain in full force when you are at the point of death." 

These forms Tetzel signed with his own hand ; and he boasted, that 
by the grants of such indulgences he had saved more souls than St. 
Peter had done by his preaching. 

The following extract, on the subject of Indulgences, is taken from 
" The Directory, or Order of Performing the Divine Offices, and of 
Celebrating the Holy Masses, for the year 1827, according to the rites 
of the Holy Roman Church ;" published for the use of the Secular 
Clergy of Ireland, by order of the Most Reverend Dr. Murray, R. C. 
6 Archbishop of Dublin : — 

" To excite, and the more increase the devotion of the faithful in the 
Catholic world, an indulgence of three hundred days is perpetually 
granted to all who devoutly, and with a contrite heart, shall repeat the 
three following verses, or ejaculatory prayers, translated from the 
Italian into vernacular idiom, — 

" Jesus, Mary, Joseph, I offer you my heart and soul. 

"Jesus, Mary, Joseph, assist me in my last agony. 

" Jesus, Mary, Joseph, may I breathe forth my soul in eternal peace. 

In the year 1809, Dr. Moylan of Cork, procured from Rome a bull, 
which he published in a Pastoral Letter in 1813, in which the Pope, 
Pius VII., grants a Plenary Indulgence — 

" To all who, after assisting at least eight times at the holy exercises 
of the mission in the New Cathedral of Cork, shall confess his or her 
sins with due contrition, and approach unto the Holy Communion, and 
devoutly visit the New Cathedral Chapel, and there offer up pious and 
fervent prayers for the propagation of the Holy Catholic Faith." 

And in the course of this letter, Dr. Moylan says — " The ministers 
of Jesus Christ, invested with his authority, animated with his Spirit, 
expect you with a holy impatience, ready to ease you of that heavy 
burden of sin, under which you have so long laboured. Were your sins 
as red as scarlet, by the grace of the Absolution, and application of this 
Plenary Indulgence, your souls shall become white as snow" 

The following is extracted from The Christian Doctrine for the use 



240 



APPENDIX. 



. of the Diocese of Limerick, by the Right Rev. Dr. Young, and re- 
printed under the sanction of the Right Rev. Dr. Tuoay : — 
" What is the foundation of Indulgences ? 

" The superabundant satisfaction of Christ and his saints, by which 
the virtue of the Communion of Saints is applicable to any one in a 
state of grace, who may be indebted to God's justice. 

" What do you mean by doing an action well ? 

" I mean the doing it so, or in such a manner, that God may have 
no cause to find fault with it. 

"Are good actions of any other benefit to a Christian, besides 
making him virtuous ? 

" Yes ; for, moreover, every good action is meritorious, impetratory, 
and satisfactory. 

" What do you mean by a good action being meritorious ? 

" I mean that it deserves to be rewarded by God. 

" What do you mean by its being impetratory ? 

" I mean that it claims and solicits God's grace, and a continuance 
and increase of it. 

" What do you mean by its being satisfactory ? 

" I mean that it is capable of atoning for the punishment due to sin. 

" Can a good action be of any service to any other besides the 
doer ? 

" Yes ; in consequence of the communion of saints. 
" How so ? " — " By a good action, one may impetrate and satisfy j "or 
others as ivell as himself" 



No. XX. 

The miracles said to be wrought by the reliques of A'Becket were 
innumerable. M. Paris says that they cured every disease, restored 
eyes and limbs to those who had lost them, resuscitated the dead, and 
even made departed birds and beasts live again. In 1420, 50,000 
foreign names were enrolled on the book called " The Martyrs' Roll." 
The offerings at his shrine vastly exceeded those offered at the shrine 
of J esus Christ ; and to crown all, there is an authorized Popish 
Liturgy, in which Christ is desired to save the souls of the supplicants, 
not by his own blood, but that of A'Becket. The lines are thus 
translated : — 



APPENDIX. 



241 



" Do thou, O Christ ! by that blest blood 
Which Thomas erst expended, 
Cause us to mount by that same road 
Which Thomas erst ascended." 

Many kings and princes attended at the shrine, and asked favours, 
which they considered were granted, particularly Henry II. and Louis 
le Jeune. His biographers have generally ascribed to him — and indeed 
all may allow to this great man — talent, learning, steadiness, and intre- 
pidity ; but as the former two qualities were employed in fomenting 
political disputes, the latter fail to secure much praise. He was 
possessed of a violent spirit — was passionate, haughty, and vain- 
glorious; in his resolutions, inflexible; and in his resentments, im- 
placable. It is admitted by most historians, that he was guilty of 
wilful and premeditated perjury, (although Rapin disputes this as a 
fact, and argues against its probabilities.) He, like many other Popish 
Priests, ever since a.d. 324, when Constantine declared Christianity 
the imperial religion, opposed the necessary course of public justice ; 
acting in defiance of the laws of his country, which he had solemnly 
acknowledged and confirmed, and proving ungrateful to his King, who 
had treated him with unprecedented confidence. By what motives 
this great man was regulated, can alone be known to Him to whom all 
hearts are open. Perhaps the prejudices of a bigoted age led him to 
believe that he rendered an acceptable service to the mighty unseen 
God, and that his long and harassing contention (even unto death), 
for the supremacy of the Ecclesiastical and Papal authority, was a 
mode of laying up treasure in heaven. Ah ! perhaps obstinacy and 
demoniac pride urged him to the end of his mortal career, without 
allowing a moment for contrition or change. His former life, his 
popular manners, his conversations in camps and courts, his risking 
his life on many imminent occasions, and exposure of himself to the 
scrutiny of all persons who were of free and enlarged manners, — con- 
trasted with the suddenness and severity with which he changed his 
conduct and views in ecclesiastical government, immediately upon his 
election to the see of Canterbury, — induced some to suspect that 
ambition dictated his actions, and that he became the champion of 
the Church for the purpose of sharing its power — a power more inde- 
pendent of the King, and therefore more agreeable to the haughtiness 
of his mind, than that which he could enjoy as a mere minister of the 
Crown. It may be, that he commenced with mere craft and craving; 
but opposition and other excitement worked so rapidly and radicaEy 
in his mind, as to render him an enthusiast. The praises and honours 
which met him in his exile, from royal and mighty men, assisted to 

R 



242 



APPENDIX. 



increase that enthusiasm : — the latter part of his extraordinary life, as 
well as some parts of his life during the period of his Chancellorship, 
was that of the heroic enthusiast. Alas, alas ! had he wielded his 
strong arm for the advancement of the honour of his king, and the 
preservation of the established laws of his country, then that intrepid 
spirit might have produced such valuable changes and benefits to his 
country, that even at this far distant day his name would have been 
ranked amongst her greatest, most honoured, and most loved patriots. 
History has assigned causes to the quarrel between Henry II. and 
A'Becket Ins Chancellor. Holinshed's Chronicle states, that one of 
the earliest complaints made by A'Becket was, that Henry did not 
give him the custody of the Tower and Rochester Castle ; but it 
appears from Lord Lyttletoii's simple yet consistent history, (which 
has led us in all the details of this narrative), that the Priest was 
aiming to overreach the King, and the King insisted that the ecclesi- 
astical power was subordinate to the State ; hence this great con- 
tention which stains the page of history. We quote the following 
letter from the Primate to his Sovereign : — 

" Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury, to the King of England. 

"I have most earnestly desired to see you. Although I cannot 
deny that in this I had a view to my own, yet it was in your interest 
that when you should see me again you should call to mind the many 
services I have done you, with all imaginable regard and affection ; 
for the truth of which I appeal to Him who is Judge of all man- 
kind, when they shall appear before his tribunal to be rewarded 
according to their deeds. I flatter myself you would be moved by 
compassion towards me, who am forced to beg my bread in a strange 
land, though by the grace of God I have plenty of all things necessary 
to my subsistence. I receive, however, great consolation from the 
words of the Apostle, ' They that live in Christ shall suffer persecu- 
tion;' and likewise from the saying of the Prophet, 'I never saw the 
righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread.' As to what 
relates to you, I cannot but be sensibly affected with it, for three 
reasons : — 1st. Because you are my liege lord, I own and offer you my 
best advice, — such, however, as is due from a Bishop having the voice 
of God and the Head of the Church : as my king, I owe you profound 
respect, and withal am bound to direct my admonition to you ; as my 
son, it is my duty to correct and exhort you. Kings are anointed in 
three places — the head, the breast, and the arms ; which denote glory, 
holiness, and power. We find, from several instances taken from the 
Scriptures, that the kings who despised the commandments of the 
Lord were deprived of glory, understanding, and might. Such were 



APPENDIX. 



243 



Pharaoh, Saul, Solomon, Nebuchadnezzar, and many others. On the 
contrary, they that humbled themselves before God received a larger 
measure of grace, and in greater perfection. This was experienced by 
David, Hezekiah, and some others. Take, therefore, my Liege Lord, 
the advice of your vassal ! Hearken, my King, to the admonition of 
your Bishop ! And receive, my Son, the corrections of your Father, 
lest you are drawn aside into schism, or persuaded to hold communion 
with schismatics. All the world knows with what honour and devo- 
tion you received the Pope, how respectfully and zealously you 
protected the Church of Rome, and what suitable returns the Church 
and Pope have made you. Remember, therefore, the declaration you 
made, and even laid upon the altar, at your coronation, to protect the 
Church of God in all immunities. Restore the Church of Canterbury, 
from which you received your authority, to the state it was in under 
your predecessors and mine ; otherwise be assured that you will draw 
down on your head the wrath and vengeance of God." 

In the year 1173, Henry walked three miles barefoot to the tomb of 
A'Becket, and drank a cup of water in which the blood of the Arch- 
bishop had been mingled; and then suffered a sharp flagellation. It 
must ever be a cause of serious regret, when a great man acts so 
inconsistently as to allow the occasional acts of his life to contradict 
and counteract its general tenor. 



No. XXI. 

Two kingly plumes. — Prince Henry went to the French Court as 
Duke of Normandy, when Eleonora formed a strong attachment to- 
wards this handsome and promising Prince. Her conduct justly 
awakened anxiety in the mind of Louis ; and after much persuasion 
to the contrary by Suger, his chief minister, he was divorced from 
Eleonora, who was united to the young Duke of Normandy within 
six weeks of the divorcement. 



No. XXII. 

Troubadour. — The middle age was remarkable for this class of min- 
strels ; indeed the wives of kings and nobles were oft richly endowed 
with the fascinating and elegant attainments which made the Trou- 
badours so famed and loved. 



244 



APPENDIX. 



When William the Bastard invaded this kingdom, one Taillefer, a 
valiant warrior, long renowned for intrepidity and courage, asked 
leave of his commander to commence the siege ; and, having obtained 
it, he rushed forward, exciting the army by songs in praise of Charle- 
magne and Roland, and other heroes of France. Indeed the Normans 
were very early distinguished for their martial songs. An eminent 
French writer, M. Le Grand (Hist, des Troubadours,) makes no scruple 
to refer to them the origin of modern poetry, and shews they were a 
century before the troubadours of all Provence, who are supposed to have 
led the way to the poets of Italy, France, and Spain. The Norman 
Conqueror and his descendants, particularly Henry II., favoured the 
establishment of this profession in England ; their dress was most 
splendid, and they always accompanied the armies, and, with the 
harper, the mimic, and the confessor, formed part of the camp. 
Henry II. was attended by the various Troubadours when on grand 
hunting excursions, or on his travels. Eleonora, his queen, was a 
most able extempore poetess and romance-dealer. Her son Richard 
was not only a poet, but, as the sovereign of Aquitaine, he was the 
prince and judge of all Troubadours. His attachment, and ultimate 
marriage with Berengaria of Navarre, is traced by some to her ardent 
love and exquisite talent for poetry. The father and brother were 
celebrated for their skill in Provencal poetry. Eleanor of Provence, 
Queen of Henry III., as also her parents, were illustrious as Provencal 
poets. Edward I.'s life was saved by his Troubadour, who struck the 
assassin's hand aside and killed him. It is also in the memory of all 
readers of English History, that the Minstrel or Troubadour of 
Richard II. discovered the place of his master's tedious captivity; 
his name was Blondel de Nesla. On arriving near a castle belonging 
to the Duke of Austria, he suspected his master was there, and he 
sang the first part of a song composed by King Richard and himself; 
his ear quickly caught strains he knew to come from the castle, and he 
distinctly recognised King Richard's voice singing the second part. 

The song was, as translated : — 

BLONDEL. 

" Your beauty, lady fair, 

None views without delight, 
But still so cold an air 

No passion can excite ; 
Yet this I patient see 

While all are shunned like me. 



APPENDIX. 



245 



RICHARD. 

" No nymph my heart can wound 

If favour she divide, 
And smiles on all around 

Unwilling to decide ; 
I'd rather hatred bear 

Than love with others share." 

William IX., the grandfather of Eleonora of Aquitaine, was one of 
the early professors amongst the Provencal Troubadours. From the 
Kingdom of France the language which prevailed all over the south 
was called Provencal. It contained the best sounds of the French 
and Italian, and presented peculiar facilities for poetical composition 
— See Sismondis Literature of the South. 



No, XXIII. 

Antiope. — It is said, that soon after the marriage of Louis le Jeune 
with Eleonora, she insisted upon joining her husband to the Holy 
Land, and that in the character of warrior. Louis gave his consent, 
whereupon she induced a number of the ladies of the court to join 
her, and they were formed into a military corps, and went to the Holy- 
Land full of the spirit of romance and chivalry. It appears that they 
produced considerable disasters, and great alarm in the mind of Louis 
and his devoted knights, which for some time he contended against. 
But at last, the female warriors falling in love with several of their 
enemies (Noureddin's officers), and the Queen herself falling sick in love 
with a beautiful Emir, Louis saw proper to disband this lovely troop. 

It appears, by Dr. Meyrick's Report, that the armour worn by the 
Normans was a defensive dress made of small minute iron rings joined 
together, so as to resemble, at a distance, a clothing of network. 
The most perfect now in existence is a suit of chain mail, which is 
supposed to be of the age of Stephen or Henry II. It is placed in the 
Tower of London, to represent a Norman Crusader on horseback, and 
it is a most interesting specimen. 

The kings and nobles of this age were manly and of great might in 
their bearing, so that chivalry became distinguished and brilliant. It 
is more remarkable, that in this age much suavity and sweetness of 
romance played upon the character of the nobility ; bat this may 



246 



APPENDIX. 



partly be accounted for when it is remembered that the intercourse with 
Spain, and the adjacent sunny lands, brought many of the sweet sex from 
that country ; indeed, our warriors, and particularly our kings of the 
middle age, selected their wives from those warm lands of troubadours. 

This dull item has attracted us to a more pleasant subject— woman, 
sweet woman — Spain and its loveliness ; but, alas ! to its degradation 
and religious darkness, which reminds us of that " darkness which may 
be felt," which came over Egypt. 

But to return to our subject. The chain mail, though uncouth and 
clumsy, was calculated to preserve the wearer from the projectiles 
then in common use — the arrow sent home by the force of the iron, or 
the stone propelled by the sling. As improvements were made in de- 
structive engines, the chain mail gave place to the scale armour, and 
this again to the massive cumbrous pieces of plate armour, with which 
the warriors of later date sheltered themselves from the arrow pro- 
jected by the cross-bow, or from the blow of the battle-axe. 



No. XXIV. 

In the "Parliamentary History," 19 James I., 1621, there is a pe- 
tition from the Knights, Citizens, and Burgesses, then assembled in 
Parliament, containing a Remonstrance against Popery; and in the 
enumeration of the causes of the mischief of Popery, we find — 

1. The vigilancy and ambition of the Pope of Rome. 

2. The devilish positions and doctrines whereon Popery is built, 
and taught with authority to their followers, for advancement of their 
temporal ends. 

3. The strange confederacy of the princes of the Popish Religion, 
aiming mainly at the advancement of theirs, and subverting of ours, 
and taking the advantages conducing to that end upon all occasions. 

4. The great many armies raised and maintained at the charge of 
the chief of that clique. 

5. The swarms of Priests and Jesuits — the common incendiaries of 
all Christendom — dispersed in all parts of your king iom. 

And from these causes, as bitter roots, we humbly offer to your 
Majesty, that we foresee and fear there will necessarily follow very 
dangerous effects both to Church and State ; for — 

1. The Popish religion is incompatible with ours, in respect of • 
their positions. 



APPENDIX. 



247 



2. It draweth with it an unavoidable dependency on foreign princes. 

3. It openeth too wide a gap for popularity, to any who shall draw 
too great a party. 

4. It hath a restless spirit, and will strive by these gradations. If it 
once get but a connivance, it will press for a toleration ; if that 
be obtained, they must have an equality ; from thence they will 
aspire to superiority, and will never rest till they get a subversion 
of the true religion. 



THE END, 



Thomas llatton, Frinter, 3" King Street, Covent Garden. 



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